About Last Night
by jarran
Summary: Liz wakes up in Red's hotel room bed, unsure about what happened the night before. She has to face the important question: Did they or did they not have sex? A question Red seems none the merrier to avoid answering and keep her guessing (as he does)... [Liz/Red] Will be M rating soon.
1. Chapter 1

**_About Last Night_**

When Liz woke and opened her eyes, she had no idea where she was. The egg-yolk colored ceiling wasn't one she recognized. She sat up slowly, inspecting her surroundings with confusion. She was wrapped up in beige Egyptian cotton sheets. She turned her head and stared at the dresser beside the bed. A dark grey fedora hat rested on top of it near the lamp, along with a pair of colored, amber-lensed sunglasses.

_Where the hell was she?_

Then something about the style of the hat seemed familiar to her, and her mind began racing. Suddenly she remembered, and she panicked. Raymond Reddington's hat. She couldn't remember everything, of course. But she did remember coming to him after finding out he was right about her husband. Breaking down and weeping to him, while Reddington held her close and offered her the comfort she needed.

_Tom. Oh, shit._

She hadn't gone home to him last night. She must have slept over in the luxurious, five-star hotel Red was staying at.

She sat up straighter against the pillows, trying to work everything out without stressing too much. She only remembered coming to Red. Everything else was beyond her recollection. She couldn't even remember getting here. Her eyes fell down to her clothes- her leather jacket, her jeans, her shirt, her socks - that were laying like an accusing pile on the carpet beside the side of the bed where she was sleeping.

_Since when did she remove all her clothes last night and decide to hop into bed with Red? What on earth had she been thinking?_

_Red. _She turned and looked behind her shoulder, finding the right side of the bed near her empty. The only sign that told her he had definitely slept there next to her last night, was how crumpled and wrinkled the sheets were. So they had slept together in the same bed. Liz wasn't wearing any clothes... No socks, no shirt, no trousers. Just her undergarments. Did he sleep next to her naked- or _what?_ Did they snuggle? Did they, dare she even think it, have sex last night?

Swallowing down the sense of panic that wouldn't seem to leave her, she climbed out of the covers shakily, and walked over towards the narrow doorway that led into another part of the hotel room.

_Where was Red, anyway?_ She wondered. She considered searching for him, but the air that blew on her from around the room was cold and made her skin break out in goose pimples. Now wasn't the time to walk around clad in just lingerie.

Biting her lip, she looked around the room again, her eyes settling on a white shirt that was draped over an empty armchair near the window. She grabbed it and slid it over her arms, buttoning it all the way up to cover her cleavage modestly. The shirt was too big and long enough that it floated past her knees and that was good enough for her. Wearing clothing made her feel instantly better about the unexpected circumstance she had woken to this morning.

She passed out quietly into the hallway on the balls of her feet against the carpet, and peeked her head in through a doorway. It was the bathroom, and she huffed to herself incredulously under her breath as she slipped inside and closed the door on herself. The bathroom put her one at home with Tom to shame. It was covered in white, sparkling tiles and the claw-foot bathtub was larger than the one they had. It was truly typical of Raymond Reddington to have the best room in a hotel.

She went to the toilet and washed her hands in the sink then caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked... different. Her hair was messy and her lips appeared swollen. Her eyelids were puffy, but that was probably due to crying last night. She ran water under the tap and cupped her hands underneath it, splashing her face. Then she used a white, fluffy towel from the rack to wipe her face dry, her stomach coiled in anxiety.

In order to distract herself, she pulled open the bathroom cabinet curiously and looked inside. Razors, men's cologne- probably belonging to Red. She began to feel a little sick as she closed the cabinet and stared at her reflection again.

"Calm down, Keen," she muttered to herself. She forced a smile at her reflection, but it only came back to her looking like a grimace. "Nothing probably even happened last night. You're getting yourself worked up over nothing."

This reminded her, oddly enough, of one of her wild nights spent at Quantico. First night her dorm mate convinced her to do vodka and tequila shots all throughout the middle of the night. She had woken the next morning with a shocking hangover, not entirely sure what had happened the night before. The only difference now was that she didn't have a hangover, and it had involved possibly sleeping with a middle-aged fugitive who was meant to be her working partner.

Never in her wildest dreams did she predict she would ever be caught in such a crazy situation.

Exhaling deeply through her mouth, Liz pulled the hair band out of her hair and attempted to make her hair more decent. Then she realized she couldn't exactly stay shut away in the bathroom all day, avoiding her problems. No, she had to face her problems head-on and deal with them as they came. Straightening her shoulders and wringing her hands at her sides, Liz mustered all her courage into heading out of the bathroom.

Now she just had to find Red and ask him the unavoidable question: Did we, or didn't we last night?

She passed down the narrow hallway and found Red sitting at the dining room table. She couldn't see his face exactly; He was holding the day's addition of the newspaper directly over his face, so she couldn't see him from where she stood, while he read. After a moment of hesitation and her stomach swirling with nerves, she cleared her throat gently.

At the sound, Red lowered the newspaper and plopped it down on the table to look at her. The calmness in his expression was irritating. "Good morning, Lizzie. I take it you slept well?" His eyes ran down the crinkled dress shirt she was wearing and Liz suddenly felt like throwing in the towel and running. _Who did the shirt belong to anyway? Surely not him._ He pulled up his shirtsleeve to look at his wrist watch. "You were asleep for roughly over nine hours. How impressive."

"What happened last night?" Liz asked, going in for the kill. "I don't remember coming here. _Here_, as in this _fancy hotel_ you're staying at. In fact, I don't remember... anything at all aside from when I came to you about Tom. Care to fill me in?"

"Oh, it's a long story, Lizzie."

She waited, a hand on her hip, while he leaned forward in the chair and started reading the newspaper again, his lips pursed. It was almost as if she wasn't standing there. She looked down at the page herself, irritated at what seemed to be getting all his attention. A crossword puzzle. He was attempting to do a crossword puzzle. A pen was resting on the table near a cup and saucer of freshly brewed, steaming tea. _A pen._ It was very tempting for her not to grab the damned thing and wham it into one of his main arteries till he answered her.

"Well?" she pressed. "I'm waiting?"

"Lizzie, I seem to be stuck with this one word." He looked up at her, his expression telling nothing of what had happened last night between the two of them. "Eleven letters. Another term for when two adults engage in sex."

The blood drained from her face and her brows furrowed. _Was that meant to mean something to her?_

Her heart was beating like a mad thing in her chest. She tried to sound casual, as she supplied, "Uh, _intercourse_ maybe?"

"Intercourse?" Red seemed to mull the word over out loud. Then with a tilt to his head in consideration, he picked up his pen and scribbled it down on the paper. "Well done, Lizzie. Intercourse it is."

"Speaking of, uh..._ intercourse, _do you wanna tell me what happened last night?"

When he ignored her and returned his attention back to his crossword puzzle, his expression focused and contemplative, Liz fell into an embarrassed, blistering silence. _What was she doing, really?_

"Well, anyway, I'm gonna go get dressed," she said awkwardly, gesturing back towards the bedroom. "Why am I even bothering with this when I know I'm not going to get a direct answer from you anyway?" she muttered, mostly to herself, in agitation.

Red just went on as if he never heard her and picked up his cup of tea peacefully, as if _Liz_ was the intruder in his early morning crossword puzzle ritual.

When Liz returned into the bedroom and started pulling on her clothes, her mind was still restless and unsettled. Had they or hadn't they had sex last night? To her, it was an easy, straight-forward question. So why the hell wasn't he going to answer her and put her mind at ease?

_Infuriating son of a bitch..._

She was just pulling down her shirt over her head when Red entered the bedroom like a tiger silent on his feet as not to alert his prey. Liz yipped and covered herself, squeezing her legs together. He paid her not one ounce of attention despite her flustered state; He simply made a beeline towards the dresser. Realizing she was being stupid, she ignored his presence with some effort and slipped her trousers on. Who cared if he saw her in her panties? He probably had seen a whole lot more of her than that last night.

And intercourse on a child-friendly crossword puzzle? _Really?_

**A/N: Was this stupid or something I should continue with more chapter? :P Please pardon any mistakes or grammar issues :)  
**


	2. Chapter 2

_**First, I own nothing to do with the Blacklist clearly. I'm just enjoying having fun with the characters, as silly as it is.**_

_**Second, I want to thank you all so much. I was so shocked by the response, and it means a lot to me. I do hope you find some enjoyment in this one. Again, I apologize about grammar- not being a native English speaker. All mistakes are my own, but I hope it isn't too distracting from the story.**_

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_**Chapter Two**_

"Why do you always wear hats?"

Liz chided herself internally over the verbal-diarrhea that suddenly plagued her. She had no idea what was wrong with her this morning.

Red didn't look in her direction as he adjusted the brim of the hat above his eyes. Then seemingly unsatisfied with it, he made a low grunting noise and tossed the hat on the unmade bed carelessly. "Well, that's an odd question, Lizzie. Why are you always stroking that scar on your wrist?"

She looked down and realized her fingers were doing exactly that, in circling the horrible red scar trailing her wrist. Liz paused uncertainly and flexed her fingers, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She thought she looked rather nauseous. It had nothing to do with drinking alcohol last night, that she was sure. Partly it was due to the unknown something that might have happened last night. Mostly she was frightened Tom would realize something about her was different and automatically know she had slept and laid close to another man in bed last night. What if he smelt it on her?

"I don't know." She shrugged. "I guess I like doing it."

"Then you have your answer to the hat question, Lizzie." He finally turned and met her eyes. "I wear hats because I like doing so."

"Okay, that's a fair enough reason, I guess."

She watched curiously as Red rummaged around in the drawer, pulling out a striped emerald-green tie. He pulled the collar of his shirt up, slipped the tie around his neck, and Liz found something oddly entrancing about watching the man dress himself. He was just so different from Tom- who hardly wore ties- although she felt instantly terrible comparing the two. They were entirely different men... entirely different species, almost.

_Oh, God. What happened last night? _She wondered desperately as she stared at the man preoccupied with dressing himself near her. _Why can't I remember? Of all the things not to remember... this has to be one of them. _

She tried to think back hard on the night's events, only coming up short. Weeping in Reddington's arms. Not her husband's arms, but Red's. Red saying her name, over and over, assuring her strongly that she would be okay, no matter what came out of her incredibly difficult situation with Tom. Liz finding unexpected comfort in his embrace. Never wanting to be released from his hold. And then... that was... it. She woke up in his hotel room bed, with half of her clothes off. She wasn't completely one-hundred percent certain he had slept beside her, but... the wrinkles in the sheets were evident enough.

And the intercourse remark. Oh, _the intercourse._

Was that meant to be some hint? Surely she would have remembered, wouldn't she? After all, you don't just wake up the next morning completely forgetting having sex with someone, did you?

She stared at Red despairingly a moment longer, while he was sliding his arms through a black sleeveless vest, realizing his tie was all crooked. It was just wrong. All _wrong_. It shouldn't have bothered her so much, but it did.

"You can't go out in public looking like that," she muttered under her breath, the words falling off her tongue without her control. _Jesus, why should she even care whether his tie was wrong or not? What was she, his wife or lover? _But it was too late, and she couldn't take the words back, even if she tried. Red had heard them and was staring down at his choice of outfit in confusion. "Your tie is just all crooked," she explained, almost inaudibly, stepping closer towards him.

She hesitated, her hands hanging uselessly near him. She didn't want to come across as rude, but it was seriously annoying her for unknown reasons she couldn't begin to fathom. She glanced at his face nervously as he slipped in closer, and she caught the reassuring smile he gave her. It was all that she needed to just go ahead and get it done.

"I've just come to learn how fastidious you are about clothing," she huffed out, in defense for herself. "And it was seriously bugging me. I don't even know why."

She was surprised by how much taller Red seemed, when she wasn't wearing any shoes.

"Thank you, Lizzie," he said, his voice deep and soft. She caught herself staring at the muscles twitching in his neck as she slipped the end of the tie lower than the tail. Though it made her feel immature, she felt too nervous to look at anything above the neck.

"No problem," she said, trying to sound casual. "My father used to get me to do this for him all the time, so I'm used to it." She knew how much Red enjoyed her talking about her father. "There was a song that we even used to sing so I wouldn't forget all the steps."

"Sing it for me, Lizzie." She suspected he was making fun of her, but when she finally let her eyes lift to his face, she found him studying her features seriously.

"You know, I don't think I will. I can hardly sing, and it's really stu-"

Red interrupted her quietly, "I want to hear it."

He was putting her in a corner, and it made Liz suddenly feel weak. The man was probably used to getting his way, so she practically had no choice.

Clearing her throat gently and feeling her cheeks burn, Liz began with the song and all the steps she had memorized along with it.

"Gathering his senses about him, the rabbit bounded away with the fox snapping at his cotton tail. Once around the tree, the fox chased the rabbit." She wrapped the end of the tie around the tail, almost mechanically, "Twice around the tree the little rabbit fled with the quick gray fox close behind. Trying to shake the persistent fox, the rabbit scooted under a bush." She pushed the end of the tie between the loop, feeling like a school teacher singing to a little boy, "With a giant leap, the little rabbit cleared the top of a big round log and dove right into the safety of his cool, dark hole..."

Liz couldn't escape the feeling of wanting to dissolve through the carpet out of sight after she was done. With tingling ears, she straightened his tie and ran the palm of her hand down the lining of the silken, smooth fabric. She stood back slightly to evaluate her work and then, pleased, she helped flatten the collars of his shirt down with care.

"There we go," she breathed gently. "All better now."

She let her eyes roam up to his face, noticing that same unidentifiable expression there that gave hardly anything away. But there was something hidden there in his shining grey eyes for her.

"Sometimes I wondered if my father did it on purpose. He'd come out with his tie all crooked, and he'd say, 'Butterball, how's my tie looking?" And I'd be like, 'Dad, your tie looks terrible. You can't go outside looking like that!' So he'd always get me to fix it for him while repeating the story of the rabbit and the fox." Her voice shook, as it always tended to do, whenever she mentioned her father Sam. It wasn't something she could control. "I'll always remember us doing that. How ridiculous, huh?"

"I think it's a lovely story, Lizzie."

"Yeah, well..." She shrugged and brought her eyes away from him with some effort. "He's gone now. I suppose I better stop talking about him as if he's still around."

"Even though he is gone, I'm sure he's still around, looking down on you, Lizzie. I'm sure he's proud of the daughter he's raised."

That was an unsettling thought. While Liz knew he meant that in a caring way, she hoped he wasn't around and had looked down on her last night, while she did heaven knows what with Red in bed. _God, if only she knew..._

"Are you all right, Lizzie? You look so stricken. Is it because it's hard to talk about the memories of your father?"

_Yes, no. Maybe. Mainly it's hard not knowing what we did last night. You know what happened, and I don't..._

She realized that was how it had always been between the two of them. Red was always the one privy to things she didn't know, while Liz was left meandering hopelessly in the dark for answers. Why should she be so surprised that that was how it was now?

"Are you ever going to tell me why it is that I actually slept here last night? How did I come to get into your hotel room? What did we do last night? Or do I have to start getting a little rough to get all the answers out of you?" Liz had meant it as a full warning for him to start disclosing what she couldn't remember of last night, only she could tell he didn't see it that way.

Like the infuriating son of a bitch that he was, Red actually dared to tilt his head back and laugh softly. "Oh, I believe that ship already sailed last night, Lizzie. You were enjoyably rough on me last night."

Liz stared him down, unimpressed. "Meaning what, exactly?"

_Oh God, he didn't mean foreplay in bed, did he?_

A million things crossed in her head at once. Seething remarks, curse words. She opened her mouth, fired and ready, then closed it up again. Her hand blindly found her wrist and she massaged her scar firmly with the tips of her fingers. Ah, now this was why she stroked her scar habitually. When she was placed in high stress situations.

"Tell me how I'm supposed to explain this to my husband!"

Red shrugged and turned to collect his hat off the bed. "I have full confidence in you, Lizzie. I'm sure you'll think of something." Unconcernedly, he turned his eyes on her. "If adequate explanations fail to come to you, you can always bring up the dead fake brother into the conversation."

Red was getting off on this, and Liz could tell. His eyes were singing.

"You're unbelievable, do you know that?" Her voice pitched to a higher level without her control, echoing around the room. "Why is this such an enjoyable game to you?"

His eyes flew down to her fingers that were rubbing her scar furiously. She couldn't seem to stop the movement, damn it. "Will you just calm down, Lizzie?" He spoke gently, as if he was the responsible parent and she was the child. "You, of all people, should know by now that shouting gets you nowhere. And will you stop that?" He stared pointedly at her fingers. "You're going to rub yourself so hard that you're going to bleed, my dear."

The laugh that erupted from her mouth sounded embarrassingly like an enraged bark from a dog. "Yeah, and I'm sure you'd love that, wouldn't you? Me bleeding?"

It happened so quickly she wasn't even sure it was real. In one sudden movement Red was standing in front of her, and then in the next his hand was grasping her wrist and he was bending down to press his mouth against her scar. His lips were hot, and it was open-mouthed, and it wasn't exactly the most unpleasant feeling on Liz. Something like warm liquid spread throughout her entire body.

"The hell," she gasped, wrenching her hand free.

She felt her face drain of all color as she stared up at Red as he straightened up. His face was unreadable, aside from his eyes that gave away some inkling into what he was feeling. They were shining with something similar to regret; Embarrassment that he had lost control completely and done something so against his invisible leash of self-restraint when it came to being around her.

And it had pretty much confirmed her worst fears. They had done it last night. Or had they?

Someone cleared their throat awkwardly near the doorway to the bedroom and Liz yelped in fear. Dembe was standing there, appraising the pair of them nervously. He nodded to Liz silently before focusing his attention on Red.

"Ah, excuse the interruption, but you have somewhere you need to be in half an hour, Raymond, sir."

As if nothing had even happened between the pair of them, Red strode out of the room with Dembe trailing behind him uncertainly. Liz stared after them, before shaking her head furiously. _How could a man be so... so... confusing?_ She grabbed her boots that were lying near the armchair and sat as she slid them on. When she found the two men standing around by the dining room table speaking in hushed voices, she cleared her throat loudly.

She made sure she kept her eyes on only Dembe, as she asked, as politely as she could, "Do you mind taking me home? I need to get home and change. I don't exactly want to turn up to work wearing the same clothes."

She watched Dembe as he looked at Red for counsel.

"Dembe won't mind taking you home, would you, my friend?"

She ignored Red as much as she could, but she knew fair well she wasn't deaf. She couldn't escape hearing that voice of his. He sounded completely composed.

"Of course not, Raymond, sir."

"Good. It's settled then."

Dembe looked her over expectantly. "Whenever you're ready, Ms. Keen."

"I'm ready now," Liz said firmly, anger still in her voice.

"Then it's bon voyage for now, my dear."

Ignoring Red, she pushed her way outside of the hotel room. Dembe followed her slowly, and when she turned to look at him, he was eyeing her warily like she was a stray and unpredictable animal.

"Did you have a good night, Ms. Liz?" He asked pleasantly, surprising her. Liz didn't think she had heard him speak so much before. Usually he kept quiet, lingering in the background.

"I would feel better if I knew what last night entailed..."

"Not to worry. You and Raymond seemed to have good fun last night. Raymond told me after that he hasn't slept like such a baby in over twenty years, because you exhausted him so. You must sleep with Raymond more often and make it a habit. Raymond seemed to enjoy spending the full night with you."

Liz sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. _Oh, wonderful. Now Dembe was in on it too, with the cryptic insinuations of what went down last night in Red's hotel room?_

**_Hope this wasn't a disappointment. :) Please let me know your thoughts!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all so much for being so kind. I'm sorry I took so long to update this silly story! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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_**Chapter Three**_

Liz made sure her movements were as quiet as possible as she unlocked the front door and slipped inside the house to get changed. At first, she hoped Tom had already left for work so she didn't have to explain anything of her whereabouts last night; An answer she didn't exactly know the full details on herself, thanks to both Reddington and Dembe withholding the information from her. She was just taking off her leather jacket and hanging it up on the rack near the front door, when she heard Tom bounding down the stairs. He was dressed and ready to leave, but it was obvious he had waited for her to arrive home. He crossed his arms over his chest as he watched her carefully, and all Liz could manage was to smile at him in a somewhat guilty way.

"Well, where were you?" Tom demanded, in a quiet but stressed voice.

_Oh, shit. Here it goes. _"I'm sorry, Tom. I can't tell you. But what I _can_ tell you, is that it was for work purposes."

"Liz, I was worried sick! I almost called the police and put out a missing person's report on you! I even called Ellie and asked her if you were with her."

"I wasn't with Ellie." _I wish I had only been with Ellie, but I was actually with Raymond Reddington._

"Yeah, obviously. She cleared that one up for me. Why didn't you come home?"

"It's... work related. It's classified information. I'm sorry."

"You had me up all night, yet you can't even tell me what you were doing? Don't I deserve that much from you, Liz?"

"Okay, fine." Without missing a beat, Liz said the first thing that came to her head, "There was a stake-out. We had to pull an all-nighter in a surveillance van, me and my partner, another Agent at work. We were stuck there all night, and we just packed up to leave. I'm exhausted, I feel dead on my feet, and I really don't need to come home to this and get into it right now with you. And that's all that I can tell you."

"You didn't think of calling me so I didn't have to worry?"

"Babe, we're not allowed to use our phones. I never got the chance to call you. I'm sorry for worrying you, but I'm really fine. End of story."

"Yes, Liz, and I understand that now. But still, it doesn't explain the text message I got from you at, like, one in the morning."

Her mouth flopped open as she stared at him, uncomprehending. _Text message? Apparently she sent him a text message? Saying what?_

"Text message?" she repeated slowly, feeling her heart racing with dread. "What text message are you talking about, babe?"

"This one." Moodily, Tom pulled his cell phone out of his jean pocket and flipped it open, searching through his list of messages. Then finding the one she had supposedly sent him, he stepped closer to her to show her it:

_Not coming home. With more fascinating company than your whining ass will ever be._

Liz gasped and rubbed a hand over the side of her face. The message had 'Red' written all over it. She knew, without a doubt in her mind, that Red had been the one responsible for sending the text from her phone to Tom. The question now just was how on earth did Red manage to get ahold of her cell phone in the first place? Why would he do something like that to her?

"Do you really see me that way?" Tom asked her, hurt. "Am I really whiny to you? Is that truly what you think of me?"

Red had definitely taken this entire thing too far. She was keen to have more than just a little chat with him. "No, babe. Of course not," she sighed, although what Red had bothered to text him had definitely had a ring of truth to it. Still, Red and her were going to have to have a serious talk once she could see him. "You know I love you."

He closed his phone up with a sigh, slipping it back inside his pocket. "I've got to get to work," he told her softly, frowning. "I'll see you when I get home. Just next time, please give me the courtesy of calling me first so I won't stress too much."

"I will, babe. Have a great day being an awesome teacher to all your forth-grade students."

Tom seemed to perk up, finally. "You know I'm the best teacher."

_Yeah, I'm sure you are, considering your not even really a teacher,_ Liz thought. _You don't even go to school- the place where you are supposed to go, you liar._

He kissed her goodbye and Liz had to fight against the very tempting impulse to knee him one in the groin. She kept a fake smile on her face as she waved at him as he left through the front door. Then once he was gone, she raced upstairs and got herself changed into a fresh pair of clothes for work herself. She had no idea what was in store for her today, but she knew it would take her mind off whatever might have happened with Red last night while she slept over in his hotel room bed, hopefully.

She was just tying her hair up when her phone pinged with a new message. It was from Nick's Pizza, A.K.A Red:

_Outside your front door waiting to have breakfast with you._

She felt more pleased by that than she probably should have. At least, that would give them a chance to properly talk out what had happened last night, and Liz was determined to find out. She slipped on a pair of ankle boots, took her leather jacket off the rack and shrugged it back on over the blouse she was wearing, and as she stepped out the front door and locked up, she saw Red and Dembe waiting outside in the Mercedes-Benz, the car parked on the curb of her house address. When she climbed in and sat her bag on the floor by her feet, she looked at Red.

As usual, Red was dressed immaculately- in a white shirt, trousers and a buttoned vest, with the tie she had fixed for him earlier in the morning looking perfectly straight. She felt an odd sense of personal pride that she was the very reason his tie was straight and orderly, but it took some of the excitement out in seeing him again when she had only just seen him less than fifteen minutes ago. Her mouth went dry as she watched Red inspect the new clean clothes she was wearing with his eyes unnecessarily. _What? Did he really expect her to turn up to work wearing the exact same clothes she had worn last night while playing sleepover?_

"You said you wanted to have breakfast with me?"

Red finally turned his eyes away from her and Liz felt her body sag in relief as he stared outside the tinted window instead. "Yes."

"Are you finally going to share with me what happened last night?"

"Possibly," he said simply, before pressing his lips together into a tight, thin line.

"I saw it," she muttered, trying to keep her voice under control. It took everything not to raise her voice. "Just so you know, I saw it. Tom was waiting for me when I got in, and I saw it, he showed me it. I just want to know how you could do something like that? Or is this all truly some enjoyable game to you?"

She could almost hear Red's mind clicking into gear as he shifted slightly on the seat to look at her. She caught that little twitching thing he did, as he stared into her eyes deeply. "Saw what? What did you see, Lizzie?"

_Ah, so this was how he was going to play it. Mr. Innocent._ "Don't play dumb with me," she whispered, lowering her voice so Dembe wouldn't hear in the front seat while he drove. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Honestly, I have no idea what you are talking about, Lizzie."

"Then shall I refresh your memory?" she asked him brusquely.

"Oh, please do."

Groaning in frustration, she reached down to get her phone out from in her satchel. Then she leaned over to press her phone into his hand. "There," she hissed, "Am I now starting to make sense to you?"

He glanced down at her cell phone and Liz made sure she watched his face very clearly for any signs that he comprehended what she was saying. Disappointingly, she never found any. His expression was blank as he looked from the phone to her, raising an eyebrow. "Why are you giving me your phone, Lizzie? Is this some kind of... test?"

"You sent Tom a text message from my phone last night," she explained, anger shaking her voice. "It wasn't a very friendly text message. Frankly, I didn't find it all that funny, if that was what you were trying to accomplish."

"I never sent anything, Lizzie." He had the gall to look utterly serious and his tone was just as tricky to fault. "I'm terrible with technology. Half the time, I don't even understand how to work a cell phone, nor do I have the patience. That's why Dembe always does it for me."

"Then did you get Dembe to do it for you? As a prank on my husband?"

"No, I didn't. I mean that with all my heart. I sincerely have no idea what you are talking about. What message to Tom? What the hell did it even say?"

She couldn't see that he was lying, he looked just as confused as she did. But she was positive Red had tons of experience in deceiving people. Besides, how else could the text message of that kind be sent to her husband?

"I know _I_ wasn't the one who sent it," she went on irritatedly. "I never would have sent Tom something like that. Not ever in a million years, so either it was you who was responsible, or it was Dembe. Whichever one of you it was, I urge you both to fess up right now." She looked in Dembe's direction, only he was too preoccupied with safely driving them to whichever place Red had plans to take them for breakfast before they called into the Post Office. "Was it Dembe who did it, then?"

"I don't know, Lizzie. I'm not sure. Why don't you tell me what the message said?"

Sighing, she grabbed the phone out his hands and found the text message in her sent folder. She passed her phone back to Red, again watching his face very closely for any sign that told her he was the man responsible while he squinted and tilted his head to read the writing on the screen. For a moment, his face was completely expressionless. Then he laughed, like it was all some brilliant joke.

"At least whoever sent it was being honest," he remarked wryly, laughing again when Liz snatched her phone from him. "We did have a ball last night, Lizzie. You seemed to enjoy the company very much. In fact, you couldn't seem to keep the smile off your face. It was wonderful."

"Why was I smiling so much?" she demanded. "When are you going to give me any answers on what happened last night?"

Red rested one elbow on the side of the door and stroked around his chin with his fingertips thoughtfully, while she waited. All this not knowing was driving her crazy, in the literal sense. "The reason I haven't given you any answers, Lizzie, is because you are asking all the wrong questions. The questions you seek the answers to about last night aren't right, or as simple as you think they are. If you wish to know what happened last night, you are going to have to search deeply within yourself for the right questions."

God, he was unbelievable. "That makes no sense at all," she pointed out stiffly. "Why can't everything be so simple and straight-forward with you? I'm asking you a basic question, you just need to tell me a yes or a no."

"A yes or a no to what, Lizzie?"

She swallowed and tried not to be childish about it. "Did we have sex last night? Just tell me. Why did I come back to your hotel room after learning about Tom? What did we do?"

He stared at her intently for a few minutes, as if deliberating on how to answer, and Liz had to remind herself to remain strong and in-control. She had to know the answer, and she was going to give him hell if he didn't give it to her soon.

Red worked his jaw and opened his mouth to say something, but instead, he closed it up and simply smiled at her.

"I need a verbal answer, Red," she pleaded quietly. "Yes or no. It's as simple as that."

With a beat's worth of hesitation, Red finally said, "No."

"No?" Liz repeated, her heart surging with relief. "So that's a no to the sex question? Oh, thank God." She leaned her head back against the leather headrest in the spacious seats, breathing deeply. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. All this time she had spent panicking, and for nothing. Nothing had even happened.

"No, it wasn't a no to the sex question, Lizzie. It was more of a... no because you're asking me the wrong thing. You're phrasing it completely wrong. I don't have sex, Lizzie. I rather prefer to call it a little something like making love. What no one probably knows about me, is that I'm an old-fashioned romantic at heart." He smiled at her softly. "I believe in happy endings and love mending and taking away all the anguish and suffering and it conquering all at the end of the day. So to answer your question, no, we _definitely_ didn't have sex last night." He chewed the inside of his cheek, head cocked to the side as he observed her unnervingly._ "Making love_, however, well...that's another story."

All her muscles clenched as she lifted her head from the seat to stare at him in astonishment. Just as she was starting to feel everything was all right, he went and said something to turn it all around on its head again. She remained quiet as Dembe took them to a restaurant. She felt sick with anxiety and frustration that she couldn't seem to remember anything of what had happened last night. Red was clearly relishing confusing her and making her panic. She stared out the window, her eyes narrowed with worry, as everything flew past them. The traffic was fairly heavy at this hour of the morning and she let the scenery distract her for a good few minutes, until Dembe parked the car outside a restaurant she was familiar with that was famous for its Thai cuisine.

When Red spoke up, she felt her heart pick up a notch in speed. "Well, we're here. We have an hour before we have to get you to the Post Office, Lizzie, so let's make the most of it, shall we?"

"I thought you had somewhere you needed to be?" she shot at him softly, remembering Dembe reminding him of it before.

"I cancelled it. It wasn't important." Red pursed his lips, shrugging.

"Fine, then." Although Liz didn't feel much in the mood for breakfast, she couldn't deny this would be the perfect time to interrogate him some more.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hey guys,**_

_**So sorry for taking so long to update. This story is super silly, I know. Still, hope you enjoy regardless. I guess this also hints at how weird my mind is, haha. :) I own nothing to do with the Blacklist by the way, this is just for personal fun. Also, something to kill the time while anxiously waiting for the first season of the show to be released on disk. **_

* * *

_**Chapter Four**_

Liz was growing increasingly restless as they entered the Thai restaurant. It was fairly crowded at this hour of the morning and she had doubts on whether she could refrain from shouting and raising her voice at Reddington in front of everyone. She wanted to shout and scream and stomp her feet. She wanted to inflict severe damage on him, which wouldn't have been the most suitable thing to do in a public restaurant. So with great restraint, she kept her hands to herself and slumped furthest away from him in her seat. Unfortunately for her, Red chose the seat near hers, while Dembe sat across from them, and even simply hearing the man's voice was beginning to become dangerously grating on her.

Red dragged his seat nearby hers and rested his arm against the back of her chair, definitely too close for comfort. "This is my girlfriend Lizzie," she heard him announce proudly to anyone who would listen in the restaurant and she growled internally. She was willing to bet a limb that he was doing it on purpose to further aggravate her. If so, he was succeeding.

She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to ignore the man sitting next to her, as best she could. It wasn't easy, however. He kept trying to engage in trivial conversation with her and Liz felt as if the top of her head going to blow off any minute now. The faster she got away from Red, the easier it would be. She found herself constantly checking her wrist watch, hoping the hour would go quickly. Only it seemed as if the hands of time weren't cooperating with her this morning.

"Checking your watch every five minutes isn't going to make the time go any faster, Lizzie. Now what do you want?"

"How about valid answers to my questions?"

He patted the menu in front of her loudly with his hand. "No, I meant from the menu, Lizzie."

"I didn't come here to eat anything," she grumbled under her breath. "I'm not hungry. I don't even know why I agreed to come here with you in the first place."

"Well, it _is_ time for breakfast, after all. People _do_ usually eat at this time."

"As I said, I'm not hungry. I've seemed to have lost my appetite. You keeping things from me tends to do that."

"Then you must be skinny as a rake, Lizzie," Red said with infuriating amusement. "Let me reassure you and make you feel more at ease: There are _always_ things I am keeping from you. This time is certainly no different. Now, what are you having for breakfast? Let's talk this over before the waitress makes her rounds."

She turned and looked him over sharply. "I just told you that I'm not hungry," she muttered through clenched teeth. "But what I will have is a nice cup of coffee. That's it. That's all I want."

"Suit yourself then, Lizzie." Her eyes remained on him as he consulted the menu with interest. Liz found herself wishing her eyes had the potential to simmer his skin, causing him sheer agony. _If only. _The waitress, an extraordinarily tall woman with a rather deep voice approached them, and Liz ordered her coffee. Once she had taken down all of their orders and had moved across the room away from them, Red leaned over slightly in his seat. "That waitress," he began in a hushed whisper, shaking his head in what Liz assumed was amazement, and Liz turned and looked briefly as the tall Thai woman lingered around. "Don't be too obvious with looking, but she used to be a man. Well, she still very much is one. She still has a penis, but she prefers to be thought of as a woman now."

"Um, okay." Liz's mind worked slowly to process that as she observed the woman more curiously. _Where was Red going with this? _"And this concerns me why?"

"I just assumed you would like to know, if you were wondering why she looks rather... masculine. It's because she is really a man, but she hasn't gone through the sexual reassignment surgery yet. Marvelous how feminine she looks, isn't it?"

"Okay, Red." She huffed out an incredulous laugh. "Well, thanks for that useless and irrelevant piece of information."

"You're very welcome," he shot back, just as sarcastically.

"Why did you even bother telling me that? I mean, she's not really a woman. She hasn't had gender reassignment surgery yet. So what? What does her having a penis have to do with anything?"

"Appearances can be wickedly deceiving, Lizzie."

"How do you know she still has a penis anyway?" Not that she cared how he did. He tended to know some of the most eccentric people.

"Oh, you shouldn't ask." Red laughed, a deep chuckle. "That's a story for another time, Lizzie. Now doesn't seem like the proper time with her standing in the room. Perhaps later."

Their orders finally arrived and Red had ordered what looked like a yellow soup with prawns in it. She smiled politely at the waitress (who was apparently transgender) as she put the coffee she had ordered on the table and Liz found herself quietly envious over Red's soup he had ordered. It smelt delicious and her mouth salivated at the sight of it. _So much for not being hungry..._

"Would you like to have a try, Lizzie?" Red asked her while he picked up his spoon, as if reading the jealous look on her face or somehow knowing what she was thinking. "You're missing out on some magnificent food. I don't understand why you insisted on just having a coffee when the food here is perfectly good. Why don't you have a try?"

"I'm fine with my coffee, but thank you for offering," she declined as good-mannered as she could. She cupped her hands over her hot mug of coffee and brought it in closer. Her coffee didn't look as appealing as his soup, that was for sure.

"Nonsense, Lizzie. Try it." Eagerly filling the spoon up with the liquid, he guided it towards where her mouth was carefully. "Go on. Try it, Lizzie."

_He was going to spoon-feed her? Seriously? Who does that to a grown woman?_

But unable to resist, she leaned over and opened her mouth, closing it over the spoon and slurping the liquid in noisily. It tasted just as delicious as it looked. Spicy and full of flavor. "Mm," she said, just to make her delight known. "It's very nice."

"You want more?" As if he was excited by feeding her, Red went to give her some more, his face full of pleasure.

"Please no more, Red," she protested firmly, shaking her head when he held the spoon near her lips again. "It's yours. You eat it all yourself."

"Just have one more spoon full, Lizzie," he insisted, as if it was an outrage for her not to. "Would it really kill you? Come on."

"It's your soup. I'm not eating it all on you!"

"Go on, Lizzie!"

Red was still holding the spoon filled with the liquid near her mouth and, having a sudden explosion of volatile irritation overcome her, she acted without thinking in knocking his hand away from her face. Quick as a blink, the liquid from the spoon trickled down and splattered onto his vest and Red yipped in annoyance at having a precious piece of clothing spoiled. _Crap, what the hell was wrong with her today?_

"Sorry," she apologized honestly, fumbling to find a napkin or anything to help soak the moisture up off his vest. Just as she was about to stand and ask for a napkin, Red pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and she grabbed it out of his hand and attempted to mop up the mess she had made ruefully, dabbing here and there at the material of his vest. "God, I don't know what overcame me just then. Evidently I wasn't thinking before I did it." She grimaced as she realized that it had left a yellow stain and prayed he would somehow find it within himself to forgive her. "Sorry, I think I've ruined your vest. I don't know what I was thinking..."

"Are you sure you didn't just do that on purpose, Lizzie?"

"Why would I do that?" she asked defensively. "I might be angry with you because you're keeping what happened from me, but I'm not that angry. It was an accident."

"Oh, I'm sure it was an accident," he retorted wryly. "Next thing you'll be throwing your scalding coffee over me and claiming that was an accident as well."

She couldn't help but smile. "That's very tempting, but don't give me any ideas to encourage me. I'm still waiting by the way..."

Red's eyes met hers as she kept wiping furiously with the handkerchief against the stain, with little success. "Waiting for what, Lizzie?"

"You _know_ what for. For you to actually tell me why it is that I woke up in your hotel room this morning after having stayed the night. Why is it that I'm unable to remember anything that happened? What happened between us, really?"

He gave her a small smile at her tone. "Really, Lizzie? You want to know what _really_ happened?"

"Yes, tell me what_ really_ happened. And please don't feed me anymore lies or cryptic comments. I want the truth, all of it. Just come out and say it already."

His eyes remained on hers silently for a few minutes, as if he was mentally ruminating on what to say and how to phrase everything correctly so she could better understand. Liz could feel her chest tightening and swelling with hope at finally knowing. Then he said, in a soft tone, "You said you remembered coming to me about Tom? That I was right about everything I had told you?"

"Yes, I definitely remember that. I remember coming to you and..." She paused, trying to get over her embarrassment. "The music box. The song my father played me. I cried in front of you, and you comforted me. Assured me everything was going to work out fine. And that's as far as I remember." She tossed her head helplessly. "I don't remember going back to your hotel room or getting undressed and sleeping in your bed?"

"You were inconsolable, Lizzie. You fell asleep in my arms, and when I suggested on getting you home, you told me that the very last thing you wanted to do was have to endure seeing Tom. So I called Dembe and we both took you back to the hotel."

Liz realized she was holding her breath as she waited eagerly for the full run-down on what had happened last night. She felt tense and anxious at possibly hearing something she didn't want to have to hear.

"And then what?" She got out in a hurried voice. "You took me back to your hotel, and that's why I can't remember it, because I was exhausted and I crashed in your arms. So what happened next?"

"You were asleep in the bed for an hour or two, and then you came out of the bedroom just as Dembe and I were finishing playing cards. Then you demanded all three of us play strip poker, heaven knows why." He laughed in bewilderment while Liz didn't know what to think of what he was telling her. Why would she, of all people, demand them play strip poker? It just didn't seem like something she would do. "You lost fairly quickly, but we changed the rules around a bit so that you wouldn't have to take all of your clothes off. We decided that wasn't fair, Lizzie." Then Red added, as if it would make her feel so much better, "You just stripped down to your undergarments."

"So that's why I woke up this morning in just my bra and underwear?" she asked slowly. At least now she was finally beginning to make sense of it all. "Because you, me, and Dembe decided to play strip poker and I lost?"

"That is exactly how it went down, Lizzie. Give or take a few extra events we really don't have time for now."

Red had pulled up his shirtsleeve and was checking his watch. Copying him, Liz did the same, both pleased and disappointed it was already time for her to have to head into work. She had gotten some answers, though. While she was positive there was a lot more things to come, what she had heard so far wasn't half as bad as she had expected, aside from learning that she had stripped out of her clothes in front of the two men.

"So who was second to losing?" she asked curiously. "You or Dembe?"

"Definitely Dembe," Red said.

Dembe suddenly spoke up from his seat, "It was Raymond, he just doesn't want for you to have to think that I am a better player at strip poker than he is. We cancelled you out of the game because you were already as naked as you could be, so it was Raymond against me. I won, and Raymond had to strip out of his clothes. You both were as much naked as one another, then the real games began." Dembe looked very amused and Liz was still surprised by how talkative the man could be when he wanted.

But his last comment had her reeling. _The real games began? What real games?_

It was embarrassing enough that the two men had to see her with most of her gear off. She must have really let her hair down last night.

"What's this about the real games beginning?" she demanded, eyeing the two suspiciously. "What do you mean by that? What else happened?"

"Er, we really should be going, Lizzie." Red was already standing and collecting his hat from where he had placed it on top of the table. "We don't want to be late."

Dembe stood as well, retrieving the car keys out of his pocket. Liz reached down and drained most of her coffee in less than two gulps. She had a feeling she'd be needing all her energy today.

She turned to look at Red, giving him the most menacing look she could muster. "You _will_ tell me everything that happened, whether I have to beat it out of you or not."

Red had slipped on his pair of amber-lens glasses, so she couldn't make out his eyes properly. But he looked rather amused considering, and hardly intimidated by her threat one bit. "I love it when you act all flirtatious with me, Lizzie," he said, mirth in his voice. "But be patient."

Liz felt her cheeks flare with heat. "I'm not being in any way flirtatious with you, Red. I'm telling you how it is. Sooner or later, you're going to have to tell me the full story." She met Dembe's eyes with just as much of a hard look as the one she had given Red, and just like Red, Dembe was irritatingly unaffected. "_Both_ of you. We're not done with this yet." In a way she knew would push Red over the edge, being as fastidious as he was about his clothing, she deliberately let her eyes fall and linger on the stains on his vest. "You know, I'm not really sorry about ruining your vest, not even a little bit," she muttered stiffly. "Call it terrible of me, but I just... I'm not. Actually, its quite satisfying."

A smug smile played along her lips as she turned and gave him the cold shoulder.

_Take that, Reddington! Two can play at this game!_

She was fully determined to get straight to the bottom of this. She didn't care how low she had to go to know the full story of what happened last night. She was willing to do whatever she had to do necessary, even if it meant committing homicide.

**I don't know if anyone is still interested in this story? Sorry if its crazy :P If you have any suggestions, please do let me know, as it would be most welcome. **


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thank you guys so much for your lovely response to the story. I hope you enjoy this one, silly as it is haha! Sorry if it's ridiculous (Which it no doubt is). I can't wait for the Blacklist to begin again, I want more Red and Liz on my screen again. I'm sure I'm not the only one :p**_

* * *

_**Chapter Five**_

"So you, me, and Dembe played strip poker last night," she began conversationally, as she sat in the backseat of the car again on the way to the Post Office. Liz wanted to fit in as much conversation on the night before as she possibly could, before they had other things to focus on, like taking in the next Blacklister. Hopefully it would be a good start for her in putting all the puzzle pieces together.

"We did, yes. And what's more... it was all _your_ crazy idea, Lizzie."

Now that was not something she could swallow down so easily. Liz prided herself on being a mostly serious person, with no-nonsense. She couldn't actually see herself suggesting the three of them do something so crazy and adventurous as playing strip poker, unless she was well out of her mind last night and hysterical over Tom. Maybe she hadn't been completely herself last night?

She tried to think everything she had learned through, hard.

According to Reddington, he had carried her into the car and took her back to his hotel room because she was too emotional over the learned truths about her husband and didn't want to have to be in the same room as Tom.

Reddington said she had slept in the bed for a good hour or two, until she woke and suggested the three of them play strip poker. Thinking back on everything she had so far learned, she recalled when she woke Red revealing she had slept for over nine hours in his hotel room bed.

She vaguely remembered checking her watch after waking, so it would have been roughly eight thirty in the morning. That meant she had gone to bed the night before sometime around twelve thirty at night.

A huge chunk of things were missing from her memory that could have gone down in those few hours before she had truly called it a night, and if playing strip poker was anything to go by, she was willing to bet whatever had happened was crazy.

"I just... I feel like I'm going crazy. There's a million things going on in my head right now, things I can't even begin to make any sense of. I'm going crazy about Tom, trying to figure this all out. And yet, at the same time, I'm also trying to figure out what happened last night and why there is a big chunk of time and events missing in my memory. " She was mostly talking out loud to herself, vocalizing her stresses softly. But when she spoke again, she turned her eyes on the criminal seated next to her, directing the words at him desperately: "Something happened last night and you're not going to tell me, are you?"

It was obvious he wasn't going to tell her or put her mind at ease anytime soon. He was evidently enjoying this. To Reddington, this was probably another exciting game to him.

Her eyes were still steady on him as she watched him sigh loudly. He removed his fedora and held it over his knees, as if buying himself some time with the action.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm not going to tell you what happened anytime soon. I would much prefer for you to work it all out yourself, and, _believe me_-" Here, he patted her on her knee with his hand quickly in what seemed to her like both a gesture out of comfort and tenderness- "I have full faith and confidence that you'll come to learn what had happened sooner than you think. You just need to exercise a little patience and mull it over exceptionally carefully, Lizzie. The answers _are_ there, you just need to be willing to dig hard enough to delve them out."

"You _know_ what happened last night. You know every single detail. Am I correct?"

Red gave a perceptible nod as he looked anywhere but at her while removing his glasses. "Yes."

"Then why can't you just spare me all of this trouble and come out and tell me?"

"I could do that, Lizzie. But then where is all the fun in that? In just telling you all the nitty-gritty details?"

"So this is why you're doing this?" She sighed internally and gritted her teeth. "For fun, despite the fact that you're driving me insane?"

"I share your frustrations, Lizzie. I know how incredibly... _frustrating_ it can be to not remember certain things that went on. In fact, I went through it myself. I know from experience, when I was partying in Havana one night many years ago. Even still to this day, I have no earthly idea what the hell happened the night before. I woke up with this strange tattoo of a naked woman with the skin of a reptile on my shin and an even stranger sight of a woman in my bed. I think taking too many hits of acid did it to me."

Here he went, retelling her one of his adventurous, fabulous stories. Liz didn't even know why he was bothering with it all. _Unless..._

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the side of his face, and she felt her mouth go dry. Anger hit her suddenly in a dangerous wave, making her temples throb and her face heat.

She rubbed her lips together to give them moisture. "Did I somehow take drugs last night while in your hotel room?" she asked him slowly, trying to gauge and access his expression for anything revealing that told her an answer. Unfortunately for her, Red had his practiced poker-face on, and when he shifted slightly on the seat to look at her, his expression remained infuriatingly unreadable as his eyes darted back and forth between her eyes and her lips. "Are you saying that's why I'm unable to remember things the way I am?" Her voice shook and broke as she held his gaze helplessly. "Because I took... _hits_ of _acid_? You _gave me drugs_ last night?"

Liz had a feeling she wasn't doing very well in concealing the panicked look on her face at the idea of taking recreational drugs, because Red laughed softly at whatever expression he could see there on her face. "Good God, heavens no. You think you took acid last night?"

"Did I?" she demanded ferociously. "Is that why I seem unable to remember what happened last night? We took recreational drugs in your hotel room? And then afterwards, that was why I came up with the ridiculous idea to play strip-poker?"

"God, no. No drugs, Lizzie. At least not any of that hardcore stuff like acid, anyway. Mescaline? No. Heroin? Absolutely not."

Well, that made her feel slightly better. So she hadn't taken any illicit drugs after all. It still didn't explain why she was experiencing some type of amnesia over what had happened last night, though. What had happened to her? Her hand automatically found her scar and she traced it with her fingers absent-mindedly while she thought that little piece of information through.

"Did I- oh, I don't know- did I hit my head, maybe? Get into an accident? Something that caused me to not have any memory of last night at all?"

She was basically just throwing random questions up into the air. Questions that, hopefully if she pushed hard enough, Red would clear up for her.

"Or was whatever happened last night _that bad_ that I'm suppressing the memory out of my own volition?" She threw her hands up in the air and shook her head hopelessly when she realized Red was watching her. "What? I'm just trying to make sense of it all," she whispered, hating the fragility in her voice. "You're not telling me anything. I mean, you're not giving me any valid answers to all of my questions and I know you're probably not going to, because it's the way you are. I just- I... I need to understand. I... I don't know."

After that insane moment of talking to herself, Liz fell silent and pressed her lips together to stop herself from rambling on again. It was just _so very_ frustrating, not being in the know, and Red clearly knew everything about what had happened last night. Her heart felt heavy with despair and she actually felt her eyes well up with moisture. _Jesus, was she actually about to start crying right now? What was going on with her this morning?_ Her emotions were everywhere.

"Are you-" she began to ask, then paused. But then she decided she just had to know. "So you aren't my father, are you?"

Red seemed to hesitate for a moment. He lifted a hand and ran his fingers over his closely shaved scalp as he looked away from her quickly, biting the inside of his cheek. "No," he finally answered. "After last night? Heavens, no, I _am not_ your father, Lizzie." She wasn't sure why, but Liz felt extremely glad of that. If they had actually done what she suspected- and dreaded- they had done last night, at least he wasn't related to her in any way. "Besides, sweetheart, would a father really play strip poker with his daughter and intentionally make her lose so that he could perhaps have a glimpse of her in her undergarments?"

She almost laughed. Almost. "Probably not. That would be wrong, wouldn't it?"

"Exactly."

The car jerked over to the curb of where the Post Office was, and Liz slung off her seat belt and reached down to collect her bag. She felt relieved. Very, very relieved to be away from Reddington. At least for a little while, so that she could properly think everything through. Time alone from him was good. Hopefully, after a while, she would no longer feel as tempted to murder him as she did now with frustration as her sole motive.

"Well, I'm off now," she breathed, turning to look at him and quickly wishing she hadn't. "I have the information you gave me on the next person on your list. So I-"

Red's penetrating gaze was on her and she didn't know what to think or what to do, when he leaned over in the seat and pressed an unnervingly prolonged kiss on her cheek. She could smell the pleasant cologne he was wearing due to his closeness, and she felt her heart rate pick up in speed and her hands go clammy.

It was with little things like this that made her wonder, seriously wonder, whether or not they actually did have sex last night. Earlier this morning, he had kissed her on the wrist, and usually, he never did anything like that. He usually never made any advances towards her, especially not romantically nor physically. Yet suddenly this morning that all had changed. How? Why? Why was Reddington suddenly acting all smoochy with her? Because they did actually have intercourse last night, and she just only couldn't recall it, for whatever strange reason?

She forced a smile on her face quickly as he leaned back in his seat somewhat smugly, and she tried to appear carefree and completely devoid of any physical signs of stress or nerves.

She climbed out of the car, still smiling, faking it so much that her face began hurting, and it was only when the car disappeared from her sight that she let it wane. She was no longer masking her expression as she trod into the perimeters of the Post Office, and as she entered the elevator, she got a sudden fright when Ressler appeared. He quickly got in with her.

"Hey, what's up, Keen?" He asked her, his mouth full. He was holding an opened plastic container of what looked like some type of chocolate pudding or cake, clearly having an indulgent, unhealthy breakfast.

_Cake!_

It came to her then, so unexpectedly that she had to lean her back against the wall of the elevator for support. She tried to focus on breathing slowly and steadily as she thought it through frantically. Waking up in a dark room on a bed under warm, cotton sheets. Her eyes feeling puffy and sore from bawling. Feeling suddenly hungry and realizing she hadn't eaten anything or had the chance to eat the dinner Tom was preparing when she had arrived home since she had left so abruptly to go to Reddington.

And the cake! Chocolate brownies that she had come across sitting on a plate on the breakfast table while Dembe and Reddington were distracted playing a card game. She suddenly recalled eating two big slices sneakily and licking the crumbs greedily off her fingers as she rested her hip against the entryway into the other room, watching them. Then making her presence known to the two men in the room, who were both sitting on matching ottoman's, facing each other and engaging in witty banter.

_"Um, what's with those brownies? Room service?"_

_"Ah, no. That would be Dembe's, Lizzie,"_ Red had filled her in, without glancing up from his deck of cards in his hands. _"Dembe's special recipe. One of these days, you'll have to try them. That certainly wouldn't be an experience not to remember."_

Liz could only faintly remember feeling impressed. _"I didn't know you cook, Dembe?"_ she had asked in wonder. _"They were so delicious. Hope you don't mind me, uh, eating some. I didn't get the chance to eat anything at home with Tom." _

And then, for reasons unknown to her, she had suddenly erupted into a fit of laughter. She had covered her hands over her mouth, shocked by the sound as it left her, and then she started laughing so hard that she couldn't breathe, felt tears streaming down her face because she was laughing that maniacally. The hotel room oddly enough appeared as if it was spinning- either that, or she herself was swaying- and the bewildered expressions on both Dembe and Reddington's faces as they finally peered over at her sent her even deeper over the edge. Then, most disturbingly of all, that was when she had thought of her ridiculous idea.

_"Hey, you know what we should do?"_ She had asked both the men excitedly, and then she howled with laughter again as they both rose from the ottoman's they were sitting on, exchanging concerned looks for her.

_"Lizzie, are you all right?"_

_"We should- we should - strip poker!"_

All this came back to Liz as she stared critically at the chocolate pudding in the container that Ressler was holding in his hand. As the elevator finally reached the floor, Ressler turned to her while shoving a gooey piece of the cake into his mouth with his fingers. "You want some?" he gestured awkwardly, but she shook her head violently.

Oh, no. What the hell was in those brownies Dembe had made then?

* * *

**Hoping this isn't too silly? This is just how I envision Red and Liz in a situation like this, where he knows all the answers and is deliberately withholding it from her, and Liz getting aggravated over that fact. Hoping it isn't too out of character also. ****Big thank you to you all for being so lovely and kind. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**I own nothing to do with the Blacklist. Just a huge fan and Lizzington shipper.**

**I want to thank you guys so much. I know this is probably the most ridiculous story (honestly, it's intended to be) but I hope, aside from that, it makes you laugh despite it all. I very much hope you enjoy this one! Thank you! Just a warning: Things get a little crazy.  
**

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

As Liz went through the motions to the group and explained the next target on Reddington's list, when she finally got some alone time in her office that she shared with her partner Ressler, she closed the door swiftly on herself and leaned against it with her body as she wiggled her phone out of her trouser pocket. She pressed the number on speed dial and waited impatiently for him to finally pick up.

She quickly glanced through the venetian blinds and out to where her boss Cooper and Ressler were standing around, engaging in heated conversation- probably discussing how to approach bringing any potential leads in that were connected to the Blacklister in question. Aram was searching through the database, and Liz was positive she could fit in a quick phone call before the time came to leave.

When Reddington answered, she stated briskly, talking over him while he made his usual pleasantries when she called, "Yeah, yeah, it's me."

"Sweetheart." Red laughed jovially, as if he was so pleased to hear from her, which didn't do any favors on her current mood. "Now isn't really a convenient time for me."

"Oh, please," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I don't give a rat's ass what's convenient of a time for you or what isn't. It's convenient _for me_. That's all that matters."

"What's this all about, Lizzie?" He had the gall to sound convincingly baffled, the bastard.

"Something came to me, after you dropped me off. Something about last night."

With the silence that came on Reddington's end, you could have almost heard a pin drop. But then he said, somewhat reluctantly, "What is it?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, her voice vibrating with anger. She looked around to make sure no one was approaching her office, and much to her relief, everyone was still talking outside. She went on furiously, "You know, I asked you whether I somehow had drugs last night, and you _never said_ anything about it."

"What, Lizzie?" Red usually remained calm and composed, in most things, so Liz was surprised to hear his words were urgent. All this constant pestering from her was finally seeming to get to him, and he was finally feeling the strain. Apparently he was hiding more of what went on last night than he first appeared to be. There was something that had happened between them that obviously he was not looking forward to her knowing. "_Tell_ me what you remember of last night. What part of it came to you? What is it?"

Liz bit down on the corner of her lip and tried to remain calm. She knew she was coming close to losing it. "Oh, God," she breathed, lifting her unused hand and pressing her palm into the center of her forehead. "I... I was wondering how I could have... possibly suggested the whole strip poker thing. Now I think I know why, and_ you lied_ to me. I was_ sitting there_ in the car _right next_ to you!" Her attempts to stay calm backfired on her, and her voice rose. "You... you lied_ straight_ to my face!"

"Take a breath, Lizzie." Much to her dismay, his voice had a strangely calming effect on her. That didn't mean she didn't want to kill him, though. "Take a deep breath," he reminded her- something a supportive husband would do when his wife went into labour, she thought - and Liz did that, obeying, loud enough that he could hear her laboured breathing even all the way on his end of the line. "There, that's better. Now _tell me_ what it is that you remember exactly?"

"God, something about... about_ brownies_. Dembe made them. They were there and I... I ate two slices. Clearly there was _something_ in them, some kind of, uh,... substance?"

"Uh-huh. Cannabis, most likely." Red's voice implied that it was no big deal. "Dembe is a big enthusiast on cannabis. It hardly surprises me, Lizzie."

"I... I've_ never tried_ cannabis before!" She lost it then, shouting into the phone while bunching her free hand into a tight fist and shaking it around.

"Well, now you have. Congratulations."

She saw Red then. And not of the Raymond Reddington kind.

"Red, we are_ so_ done," she said sharply, her go-to response. Sure, she had said it many times out of sheer anger while dealing with the man, but she was hoping it hadn't yet lost its effectiveness. "No, we are... we're _beyond_ done." Her head was pounding and if she had been a chemical weapon, she would have blown up the entire area of the Post Office by now, turning everyone into smithereens. "We're over," she spluttered. "So over. _Us_. This _thing_ between us- this_ relationship_\- we're just... we're _done_. Over."

"Ah. So you're breaking up with me?" Red said, after a moment.

"Yes," she clarified. Then backtracked. "I mean, wait. What?"

"Onto more pressing things, how is the case coming along?"

"Breaking up implies that we were in a relationship to begin with," she muttered, thoroughly confused. "Like we were dating. Steady lovers. I'm a married woman. I have a husband! So I don't... I don't see how that fits with-"

"The_ case,_" he interrupted her impatiently, his voice not so gentle. "What news of _the case_, Lizzie?"

It took her a moment to get her head straight. She was still stuck on the "breaking up" comment. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and to get back on track. "Aram is trying to track down a lead's location through his cell phone. We're trying to find someone that has connections with him. We're going to go after him now, if any comes through. Hopefully they will give us some answers, answers that will lead us to the actual whereabouts of-"

Her phone clicked suddenly and the connection was instantly cut between them. Dumbfounded, Liz pulled her phone back from her ear to peer down at the screen.

Reddington had dared to hang up on her.

_What a son of a bitch._

The rest of the day was a surprisingly productive one. Thanks to Aram's skills, they managed to successfully track down a potential lead, who was a balding man in his late sixties. It wasn't easy detaining the man; When Ressler and her had pounded on his door, he did not answer. So Agent Donald Ressler had to kick the door in, and with their guns raised, they had found the lead innocently getting dressed after having showered in the bathroom.

When Liz had declared that they were with the F.B.I and that he was going to be handcuffed and brought in for questioning, the man had screamed and made a run for it through the back entrance of his place.

Liz was already past breaking point by then due to her trying phone conversation with Reddington, so she was acting on autopilot when she slipped her gun back into her holster and ran after him without a single seconds thought into her own personal safety.

The man had obviously been unarmed- she had seen it with her very own two eyes- so she thought nothing of racing after him. When she found him in his backyard, struggling to climb up the fence to evade capture, she wasted no time in darting over to him. She had seized him by his left arm roughly, brought him down from the fence, and she had wasted no time in tackling him on the grass and threatening to twist his arm back enough to dislocate his shoulder painfully if he didn't start cooperating with them anytime soon. Liz may have even envisioned herself saying that exact threat to Reddington while she did it- it had satisfied her in an_ unbelievable_ way- but it still proved effectual.

All in all, a good day's work done.

They had successfully brought the lead in for questioning on the whereabouts of Number 69 on Red's list, and, as an added bonus, Liz had gotten to let off some steam with chasing down and taking their first lead into custody. Unfortunately for them, as they held him in the room closed off solely for interrogation purposes, the man hardly seemed enthusiastic to answer their questions anytime soon.

Liz saw the way the man kept avoiding eye contact, and he was sweating profusely from his top-lip.

She sat across from him on the steel table with her partner Ressler, who was sprouting off constant, forceful questions in the hopes it would finally make the man crack and break and give them something useful to go with.

"I don't know," the man, whose name was Roger Altman, said for what seemed like the hundredth time. "I don't know anything!" He threw in a few fist pounds to the table to stress it home. "I don't know!"

Liz sat back in her chair and crossed her arms against her chest while Ressler sighed loudly in annoyance, watching Roger's reactions carefully. Since having graduated from Quantico and having learned how to read most people's body languages well, she gathered Roger was lying. He was covering for someone. Probably the criminal on Red's list that they were struggling to track down.

"You don't know?" Liz repeated, deciding to use a different tactic than the one that Don was using, which was aggressive. "Well, contrary to what you say, we have a reputable source that says that you _do_ know."

"I don't know," Roger insisted again, and his face crumpled. "Why am I even here? I don't even know that! Who are you people?"

"Who are we?" Ressler spoke up in outrage. "We're on the F.B.I taskforce! We told you that, like, two hours ago when we took you in!"

Without warning, Roger broke down sobbing under the pressure. Liz noticed the way he rubbed his left arm tragically. "You could have fooled me," he whispered, peering down at his arm. "You hurt me! My arm hurts real badly! What kind of people do that? You say you are the F.B.I, but why you insist on hurting me like this?"

"Goddamn this," Ressler erupted. "Keen, I'm done with this. You feel like a cup of coffee? I'm gonna go grab some. It beats having to deal with this crap."

"Hold on a second," Liz said, getting to her feet. "I'll call him. See if he can give us any tips, then you can go grab your cup of coffee."

"Oh, anything but this, please," Ressler grumbled thankfully.

Roger was still sobbing when Liz slipped out of the interrogation room and called Red's number. When he answered, she cut him off hurriedly, "We got him in custody. Thing is, he isn't talking. He's more like... crying. Any suggestions?"

"God, you F.B.I Agents. It's a wonder how anything ever gets done without me here, guiding everyone along. Shall I come in and hold your hand, Lizzie? Talk you through it in person, since it's so impersonal over the phone?"

_Come in and hold her hand? Was he flirting with her? Seriously!_

"Just tell me," she demanded, ignoring him with effort while peeking back through the window into the room. Roger had a hand covering his face while he shook violently in his seat, obviously still emotional over his arm hurting. Liz realized that she was likely responsible for that, since she had twisted it back while taking him in, but at that moment she couldn't bring herself to care in the slightest, terrible and heartless as it was. "How do we get him to talk, Red?"

When Red gave her enough to deal with, she hung-up on him in the middle of his speech, hoping he'd understand how she felt when he had done it to her earlier in the morning. Suppressing a smile, she strode back into the room, and Roger glanced up at her approaching footsteps as she held the door open midway.

"I can go now?" He asked her hopefully.

"No, you can't." She turned her eyes on Ressler. "But _he_ can. Go get yourself a coffee, Don. Enjoy. I'll deal with him for a few minutes, make him talk."

"Did Reddington say anything?" Ressler asked, getting to his feet with a quick stretch.

"He said enough," Liz simply said evasively, nodding. Once Ressler was gone, she turned and closed the door on her and the man gently. Walking over to the desk near the wall and collecting the photograph Reddington had presented her, she brought it over to the table and slid it between her and the man. "Now, tell me," she began, lowering her voice menacingly. "Do you recognize this man?" She tapped the picture loudly with her fingers.

"I... I don't know," Roger said.

"Well, I think _you do_," Liz hissed, resting her weight on the table with her knuckles. "And now, you're gonna give me real answers this time. Not any of this 'I don't know' crap. If you don't in the next five seconds, your arm is going to hurt even more than it does right now. Understand?"

"I... I don't understand."

"Wrong answer," Liz said, standing from the table. "I've had a lousy morning, and you're just only making it worse." She took off her jacket, flung it on the table against the wall, and advanced towards the man. "You see, the man who just walked out of this room,_ he_ was the good cop. You wanna know what kind of cop I am?" She got real close to Roger's face, feeling pleased as he gulped audibly. "I'm the bad cop, so you better give me an answer! Now's the time!"

When Roger simply gawked at her, she lunged into action. She grabbed his forearm in a tight embrace, wrenched it behind his back, and the moan he gave out was like music to her ears.

"See, I think _now_ you understand," she said, her voice cold. Her fringe fell into her eyes as she used all of her body weight to pin him to the table while holding his arm back in a vice-like grip, and she blew it away with her mouth while bending down to put her mouth inches from his ear. The man was muttering softly in distress. "I'm starting the countdown, Roger. If you don't give me answers in the next five seconds, you're gonna know what having a dislocated shoulder _truly_ feels like!"

"Wait, no," he started begging unevenly. "Please!"

"Five..." Liz started the countdown while bracing herself.

"I...I don't..."

"Four!"

"Why?" Roger sobbed. "Why?"

"Two..."

"I really don't know, I swear!"

"_One_!" Envisioning herself jamming another pen in Red's throat, she yanked back as far as his arm would allow, and the man cried out loudly as a _pop_ sounded from his joint.

"Okay, okay," the man finally gave in, wailing pitifully. "Jesus Christ, I know that man! I know everything! I'll tell you all you need to know if you stop hurting my arm, please!"

"Good boy," she whispered in deep satisfaction, and then using the same force as before, she put his arm back into place.

All the while, across the window, Harold Cooper and Ressler were observing everything going on between the two. Cooper's eyes widened and Ressler choked on his coffee, surprised by Keen's behavior today. He coughed and spluttered loudly, and Cooper leaned over to thwack Ressler on the back until his coughing fit died down and he could breathe again. _Elizabeth Keen was not a woman you wanted to cross when she was having a bad day. Ever._

"Christ," Don grumbled in shock, wiping the spittle off his chin quickly. "What the hell is with Keen today? Never knew she had it in her."

"Yes," Cooper agreed quietly, looking at his Profiler admiringly, who seemed to have finally had a breakthrough with the lead. "You and me, both."

Someone gave a slow clap of applause from somewhere behind where the two men were standing around, and Ressler nearly gagged on his mouthful of coffee again. _Nearly._

"_That's_ my girl," Reddington's voice suddenly came from behind them, his voice deep and quivering with pride. The two men turned in alarm and looked as Reddington entered, while removing his hat. He held his hat over where his heart would be positioned under his vest, and Don and Cooper exchanged a quizzical look. "Now, this," Reddington whispered wistfully, "This I wouldn't miss for all the world."_  
_

**Hope you enjoyed this one and still are interested in me continuing? I know this story is probably super crazy. Should Liz handcuff Red in the next chapter and be forceful? If you have any ideas or suggestions, feel free to let me know. Also hoping my english and grammar isn't terrible. Thank you for reading! :)**

**P.S, In response to reviewer: **

_**Guest **_

**_"er...You do know that red is actually lizzy's father and you are pairing father and daughter together."_**

**It hasn't been confirmed whether they are dad/daughter (Red said no, he isn't/His wife didn't even show she recognized Liz and said their daughter went off on her own) and I don't believe it's that simple. If they do end up being f/d, I've certainly supported the idea of weirder couples. This is all just for personal fun- hence the ridiculous situation. :) I don't know where the showrunners are taking it, but for the sake of this story and the themes; playing strip poker when she stayed over, etc, Liz and Red are definetely not related.  
**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Merci for all your encouraging review and alerts. I do hope you find this chapter enjoyable. Let me know. :) I find it a struggle writing this but I hope it isn't terrible and that it makes sense. I know my grammar probably isn't the best in the world, but I hope it makes sense.  
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_**Chapter Seven**_

Liz patted herself mentally on the back for accomplishing in intimidating their lead. He had finally broke down and confessed, giving her the whereabouts of Number 69 on Red's list. She excused herself from the man, Roger; who was still shaken up from the entire incident and as she closed the door on him and stepped through the hallway to make a start on revealing to both Ressler and Cooper that he had given her Number 69's current residential address, she stopped stock-still when she heard voices in the other room. Don. Cooper.

Cooper usually sat in the other room, supervising while questioning went on and making sure everything didn't get well out of hand, but she was shocked to hear a voice she wasn't expecting to hear in the room Cooper usually occupied. It was not a voice she was ready to hear in person, no less feel up to being in close proximity to the owner of it.

_Reddington._ Reddington was with them now as well.

"She had this _gorgeous _yellow-and-blue dolphin," she heard him chuckling loudly all the way from where she was standing in the corridor, "There was _this glorious _little yellow-and-blue dolphin tattooed right above her ass. Oh hell, it was marvellous! Utterly unexpected."

Whose tattoo was Reddington speaking of in particular? It was Liz's tattoo, of course, no question about it.

During her early college days when she had turned nineteen, Liz had gone through a rebellious state and with a friend, they decided to get matching tattoos as a bit of harmless fun. Unimaginative as it was, the two of them had decided on getting a cartoon dolphin on their back, and the only person Liz thought knew about it, was just her husband. He had inevitably seen it while they were being intimate and she had taken all of her clothes off. Now, apparently, Red knew about it, too.

The fact he now did was not something she felt too good about. The tattoo was a lousy and cheap job, she knew. It had only taken over thirty minutes for the artist to complete, and it had only cost her ninety bucks at the time. She often had felt relieved that only Tom knew about it- because it had been incredibly stupid of her, getting a tattoo out on a whim, and she didn't want many people knowing of it.

But now, thanks to Reddington's big mouth, that was probably no such luck. He was obviously having a field day in retelling the story to Don and her boss about her tattoo.

_Why was he hell-bent on ruining her and making her life a living-breathing hell? Was that why he surrendered himself to the FBI in the first place? Mission: Torment Elizabeth Keen until she's driven insane._

Her hands shook as she clenched them and she braced herself to enter the room. She made sure she gave no acknowledgement of Red's presence as she paused and straightened her blouse out, before entering. Cooper and Don were leaning against the table, arms crossed over their chests, fixing their gaze on her. She knew her heels had announced her. She couldn't be sure whether Red had told them which body the dolphin tattoo belonged to in particular; They both looked as they always did. Cooper; stern and professional. Don; slightly impressed with his fair eyebrows raised at her.

"Roger finally confessed," she explained, feeling Red's eyes on her skin. "He knows where he is, Sir." She made herself look at Cooper, disregarding the outline of the man slowly nearing her at a seemingly deliberate and casual rate. "Now that he has given us his most recent location, I think we should get a move on and bring him in before he makes a move himself."

"Yes," Cooper agreed, smiling slightly. "That's probably a wise plan."

"Bravo, Agent Keen," Red spoke up from near her side, as if his praise actually meant something to her. If there was one thing she had learned about Red, from the very beginning, it was that he liked to be the main focus in the room. He liked being the man everyone paid attention to, most of all Liz. He literally demanded it, with all his theatrics and intelligent remarks and, like a loyal puppy dog, she couldn't help but be sucked in and listen to his words attentively. But today, however, she was wholly determined on not giving him that satisfaction. "I give that little performance a 10 out of 10, very impressive. Hell, it was even better than a lap-dance."

_Trust him to comment and say something completely irrelevant, not to mention inappropriate,_ she thought to herself bitterly. She caught herself wondering, completely out of the blue, just how many lap-dances he had had over the years. _Er, not that she cared or anything._ Then she shook her head slightly and tried to refocus on the task at hand. _Trust Red to distract her. _

"Don, let's get moving," she said to Ressler meaningfully, ignoring the irritating man. She was not going to give him the time of day. _No siree!_

She was hell-bent on avoiding him, until maybe he found it annoying and became pissed off enough to give her some up to par answers on what had actually happened between them when she slept in his hotel room last night. Ressler pushed off the table and stood, disposing of his coffee cup quickly, and he strode out of the room.

Sending a curt nod her bosses way, Liz turned to follow right after him, setting her chin and quickening her steps.

She had only just gripped the railing with her hand tightly to walk down the steel staircase towards the elevator when it occurred to her that Red was following her. One look behind her shoulder and that was all she needed to know, when she saw his polished brown loafers as he treaded down the steps as well. The center of her forehead began to pound and pulsate. _How did he possibly know about her dolphin tattoo?_ She knew there probably wasn't much he did not know about her, being as obsessed with her as he clearly was. But him knowing of her tattoo in a particularly private and personal place? _What? How? When?_

Not once in her right mind would she have willingly shown anyone her tattoo, least of all_ Raymond Reddington_. It was disturbing, the very thought.

Her cheeks flared up with chagrin as it belatedly came to her again. _Of course!_ The game of strip poker last night. That had definitely explained it. She had kind of naïvely been hoping Red was pulling her leg about that, but now she knew otherwise. They indeed _had_ played strip poker last night- her, Red and Dembe. He had spotted her dolphin tattoo on the lower part of her back, probably whilst she was senselessly pulling her shirt off.

Those chocolate brownies that Dembe had made that she had eaten must have been lethal. Obviously all of her previous inhibitions had been washed away completely. Who knows what else she could have possibly gotten up to last night while under the effects of the drug cannabis?

When did the lines become so blurred between them? Now, here she was, learning of the escapades they had gotten up to last night.

Evidently, it was the hugest mistake she could have possibly made, in preferring to stay with Red in his hotel room rather than having to risk enduring being near Tom. If only she had gone straight home. She wouldn't have been trapped in this confusing and incredibly frustrating situation that she found herself in now. This was obviously the way Reddington operated; He wouldn't tell her things, because he wanted her to figure them out all on her own. But _goddamn_ it, if she didn't wish he could just be straightforward with her for once in his miserable life...

How could she have been _so_ stupid?

While she knew she had only just been in an emotionally fragile state from learning the true magnitude of her husbands deception... and it had ripped apart and put everything she had once believed about her safe and comfortable marriage into shambles... she still ought to have known better than to insist on staying in Reddington's hotel room last night.

_But she was only human,_ she tried to justify her actions with mentally, _and humans make mistakes once in a while. _

She needed comfort and someone to reach out to- and Reddington had insisted and always proved that he would be there for her, no matter what. She could trust him. Trust in that he would never lie to her. And that everything was going to work itself out just fine.

All in all, there was two things she had learned from this experience.

One: Never play sleep over with a criminal. It tends to get a little crazy, and you'll wake up in the morning with patchy memory into what had happened the night before.

And, two: Never eat anything in a criminal's hotel room, no matter how tempting and appetizing it may look. Criminals are naturally self-aggrandizing. Therefore, they assume not all rules apply to them. They are living under some misguided notion that they are impenetrable, and that any illicit drug-taking is legal for them.

"We should go out to dinner tonight, Lizzie," she heard Reddington dare to suggest casually from behind her. She could hear his footfalls as she strode briskly to the elevator and she knew he was right behind her on her tail.

Despite her full intentions to ignore him, she accidentally slipped up, her annoyance at him getting the better of her. "Why would I wanna go out to dinner with you?"

"I think that would be fun, wouldn't you agree? You certainly seemed to enjoy my company last night. Let's do that again!"

"I was high on cannabis, thanks to Dembe's brownies," she reminded him tartly, not without some fresh anger building to the surface. She felt a sudden, vindictive urge to insult him, so with her next ammunition picked, she added in the heat of the moment, "It's really no wonder I was smiling so much last night, like you said. I was high. Your company had _nothing at all_ to do with my happiness last night. Being high must be what it takes to stand being around you, because God knows I can't stand being near you right now."

When they finally reached the elevator and the mechanical doors lifted, she hesitated before stepping in with him. Last thing she wanted was to be in a confined space with Reddington, but really, she had no choice. She let herself peek in his direction for one second, while she jammed her finger against the button; He gave no outwards sign that her remark had wounded him deep down on some personal level. He was holding his hat in his left hand, while his head was tilted slightly to the side. He was eyeing her contemplatively and, when she roamed her eyes down to his vest, she saw that the yellow stain from this morning from when she had made him spill his soup on it was still there.

Feeling sickly satisfied and pleased with herself, she turned away from him, facing forward. It was so much easier not to feel tempted to do something to him when she was ignoring him.

"We could celebrate," he went on, after a moment, as if he hadn't heard her cutting snide.

"Oh, yeah?" She turned and met his eyes. "Celebrate what?"

His eyes went in a triangle motion, changing between peering into her eyes and then her mouth. Her lips. Liz was more than aware that when she tended to look at him, her eyes did the same thing. She wasn't entirely sure why, but usually it was just her that had that habit with him. But when his green eyes lingered on her lips and his own parted, it was unnervingly brought to her attention that things had definitely changed between them. She wasn't sure how or why but... it was something. He was different to her, not in any glaringly obvious way she could figure out. But then again, maybe it was all just in her head. Maybe this was simply just paranoia at work?

But he had kissed her, two times this morning. So there was hardly anything passionate or sexual about those kisses; They were just harmless ones; on her scarred wrist, and then, prolonged, on her cheek. Usually he didn't do that; He usually kept his distance, and so did she. Evidently something must have happened last night. Something had happened between them. She mightn't recall what that certain something was, but there was no denying he was acting different.

"Your success in now becoming a fully fledged, competent FBI Agent. Let's make it a date."

"Oh, what a shame," she huffed out sarcastically, moving closer to the wall. "Can't. I'm all booked out tonight. Unlike _some_ people, I have to go home and keep house to my lying, deceitful husband. I can't not go home two nights in a row."

"Wow. What crawled up your ass and died?"

"You know, I really don't have the time for this," she sighed heavily. "I'm not going to stand here and waste time with you."

"Escargot."

"What?" she muttered, unimpressed.

"Escargot."

"What does snails have to do with any of this? Are you saying this guy-"

"Have you tried them? I know this_ perfect_ little French restaurant in the Baltimore area that-"

"-No, I have no interest whatsoever in eating snails with you, but thanks." When the elevator finally reached ground floor and opened, she was out of there like a rocket. "Next time I feel the urge to try cooked snails and fried frogs legs, you'll be the first one I'll call. Now if you'll excuse me."

When she got outside, she found Agent Ressler waiting for her out in their sanctioned vehicle. He wound down the tinted window and made a gesture with his hand and she said not a single word more to Red, no less spared him even a last quick glance as she strutted over towards the vehicle and climbed in. She buckled herself in and Ressler started the SUV up, making a start to the location of the next Blacklister that their lead, Roger Altman, had confessed to her.

Liz wasn't completely present in the car while Ressler drove; She was stressing over what might have happened between Red and herself last night. _God, why wouldn't he just tell her already? Was this just another game to him?_ If he enjoyed aggravating her this much, then clearly he was every bit the delusional, sick and twisted man she believed he was. A sick and twisted man with the rare occasional sweet moment where she could tolerate him.

_Goddamn it,_ she thought, clenching her teeth while turning her eyes to the scenery outside the window. She felt troubled, and just as in equal amounts nauseous; A feeling she had continuously felt all morning ever since waking in Red's hotel room bed. _Goddamn him and his mind games. What was he playing at, really?_

"Okay, so what's the deal?" Ressler suddenly spoke up from behind the steering wheel, invading in on her thoughts.

She turned to glance over at him. He was already watching her, his light blue eyes slitted thoughtfully. "What? We've done this over eight times now. I'm sure you've familiarized yourself with all the procedural-"

"No, not about this," he interrupted her quickly. "Something's wrong. Something's up with you today. What's going on?"

"Nothing." She knew better than to lie when Ressler raised his eyebrows at her. Obviously he wasn't going to believe it, not today. She shrugged and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Okay, so maybe something _is_ wrong." Her smile faltered on her lips and she peered back outside the window again.

"Is something going on at home? With your husband, I mean?"

_Like you couldn't imagine,_ she thought._ My husband isn't who I thought he was... He planted himself into my life on purpose._

"Tom and I are fighting, yes," she said hesitatingly. "We're just going through a rough patch. That's it."

"And Reddington?" Her head whipped over in Ressler's direction at the name. "Where does he fit in with all of this?"

"He's... driving me crazy more than usual. God, just hearing his name aloud..." She trembled in her seat and Ressler laughed softly.

"Look, believe it or not, you're not the only one who goes through these things. And Reddington; I know he can be a real pain in the ass. If anyone knows how annoying and self-righteous he can be, then it'd be me, I know exactly how you feel. But something's really different about you. Did something happen?"

_God, since when was Ressler so observant?_

"Tom and I, we had an argument last night," she began, phrasing her words with care. "I didn't know where else to go, so I went to Red. I stayed in his hotel room the full night." She couldn't endure seeing the expression on Ressler's face, so she focused on his cobalt blue tie and the white collars of his shirt instead. "Funny thing is, I woke up this morning and I... I have no idea what happened last night. I mean, I remember certain things, but I don't... I _just don't know_ what happened between us. He's not telling me, either. I think he is keeping something from me." Ressler made a surprised grunting noise, and she lifted her eyes reluctantly. His mouth was agape, his eyes squinting at her through the sunlight streaming in through the windshield. "It was a huge mistake, and it was an unprofessional one. It won't be happening again. I've learned my lesson."

"You think you and him might have, uh, you know?" He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away from her. He hissed, as if talking about such a thing was so scandalous, "Done it with each other? Had sex?"

"Thing is, I don't even know the answer to that." She forced out a pitiful laugh. "I don't know. And that's what ultimately scares me."

Confiding in Ressler, she found, was liberating. It also made her learn something else; The thought of her and Reddington actually having sex, it didn't repulse her like she thought it would. It was just the not remembering it part that was grating on her nerves. The fact that Red wouldn't just be straight-up with her was a contributing factor to her irritation as well.

**I do hope you enjoyed this one. It is probably more serious in tone than the previous chapters, but I hope you don't mind that. As per usual, your thoughts and reviews are most welcome and appreciated.**


	8. Chapter 8

_**First, I own nothing to do with the Blacklist. **_

_**Thank you all so much, I hope you enjoy this one. Liz finds out something else this time about what happened, another piece of evidence. I'm sorry if it seems to be dragging along. Things will happen in next chapter. As usual, your thoughts are very welcome and appreciated. :D**_

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_**Chapter Eight**_

Liz sat at home in a chair on the dining room table, hands pursed around a freshly brewed mug of coffee, exhaustion permeating her body after a very tiring day of capturing Number 69 on Reddington's Blacklist. They had successfully brought the man in, thanks to Roger Altman breaking down and confessing his current residential address. She didn't know how long she had sat there, at the table, staring at the untouched liquid in her coffee, in some sort of confused and frustrated daze.

She was only thirty-one years old and already, she felt so exhausted and physically drained.

She wouldn't have minded running a hot bath for herself. She wouldn't have minded listening to some music. Something, anything, to take away all this stress for a couple of minutes.

She was so tired, tired of wondering constantly what had happened between her and Reddington last night in his hotel room. Part of her maliciously believed this was what he wanted for her all along, that this was why he was doing it. He was purposefully keeping what happened from her so that she'd suffer, so that she'd squirm. She wanted to know what had happened last night so badly, something he obviously wasn't going to help her out with.

She lifted the rim of her cup up to her lips, then decided she didn't want to drink it anymore, and placed it back down on the table. Sighing heavily, she brought a hand up to her forehead, rubbing around her temples and massaging her eyes. She felt as if she was going crazy. She felt as if she was at a point, a dangerous point of breaking. She was hanging on a thin thread, a thread that was so close to snapping and breaking off. And once it officially did fray and break, who knew what she would be capable of?

Manslaughter, possibly.

The truth was she had learned something today that frightened her. The idea of her and Reddington doing such an intimate thing together in his hotel room bed... It didn't disgust her, or repulse her in any way. If it did happen, she only would have liked to have remembered it; every detail, every touch and every kiss.

Perhaps it showed she was a terrible person, but the idea of possibly cheating on Tom didn't seem to faze her much either. Tom was lying to her, that she had come to accept and realize now. He wasn't who he initially said he was, or who he had made himself out to be for her. She rationalized that cheating on her husband wasn't such a bad thing, since he had been figuratively cheating on her since the very beginning and start of their relationship.

_Tom._

She heard the front door open, Tom calling out to her, and it wasn't like how it was before; She felt no excitement, or happiness at his arrival home. She felt tense and ready to step on eggshells around him, keep up this little game of pretense around him. There was no love there anymore, but this dark cloud of suspicion that constantly wafted over her. Her heart felt heavy and her pulse began to race as she heard him move about, taking off his jacket and removing his shoes. She felt this terrible sense of dread, an inner groan of disappointment, that he had come home and that now she was going to have to deal with him. Put on some fake smile, pretend everything was all right between them. Pretend as if she didn't know he was a lying asshole, that he wasn't even truly a teacher and that she knew he was something else.

Clutching her mug tightly in her hands, as if it would give her courage, she put a tight-lipped smile on her face with some effort and looked at him as Tom entered into the kitchen, carrying his bag with him.

"Oh, hey babe," she said weakly. "You're home pretty early."

"Yeah, I got off pretty early tonight. How are you?"

"Yeah, I'm... good." _I got to dislocate someone's shoulder today. How about we try that on you tonight? _ "How was your day?"

"Good." Tom smiled. "Well, better than good. The cutest thing happened today. You remember that kid I was telling you about, don't you? The one with the speech impediment?"

Liz couldn't exactly remember, but she nodded and went along with it. Like she always did. "Yeah, I think so. What about him?"

"Oh, god, wait until you see it." Tom dumped his bag on the table and Liz tried to appear interested as he opened it up and pulled out a piece of paper. "He drew me this today. Isn't it cute?"

He showed her a picture drawn with colorful crayons. Liz couldn't work out what the picture was of exactly, but she tried to appear impressed nonetheless.

"Wow," she sighed, maybe a bit_ too_ exaggerated and over enthusiastically. "That _is_ really adorable."

"I know, right? He even said I was his favorite teacher, too. Well, he kind of stuttered while saying it, but that's sweet, right?"

_He must really be going out of his way to keep up with the act then,_ Liz thought grudgingly.

"Oh, babe. That's super sweet."

Tom nodded, smiling as he folded the drawing back up and slid it inside his bag. "Anyway, I'm just going to go take a shower," he said, leaning down to kiss her on her cheek swiftly. "You better still be here when I get back. Finally I'm going to have you all to myself tonight."

Liz forced herself to laugh. "Where else am I gonna go, babe?"

When he headed upstairs to the bathroom, she listened carefully until she heard the water running in the shower. His bag was still on the table, within arms reach. Her fingers twitched to open it up, to see what else he had inside. Unable to fight off the temptation, Liz reached over and shoved her hand inside his bag, looking around. What she found inside made her feel physically ill.

Crayons. A new box of crayons, recently opened.

Like the ones the "little boy with the speech impediment" used to draw Tom the picture.

She heard the shower go off a second later and quickly, she shoved the crayons back inside his bag and sat back down in the chair, trying to calm her breathing down. Her fingers found the scar on the inner skin of her wrist, and she traced it absently, feeling the blood thrumming in her ears. This was getting ridiculous, she decided. Tom, his lies and the great lengths he took to make her believe, _everything_. It was just too much, and that thread she was hanging off frayed a little more and got a bit thinner. She was being driven mad. No, she was probably already past the defining point of insanity.

The night got even worse; Engaging in trivial conversations with her husband while they made dinner together, a stir fry that tasted bland with broccoli. She absolutely hated broccoli, yet Tom constantly assumed she loved it, so she was forced yet again to lie in order to keep the peace. Tom constantly going on about how they were "newlyweds", and that he felt so happy, the happiest he has ever felt in a while. The worst part of it, for her, came when they were getting ready to go to bed. She had pulled down the covers on their bed, intent on sleeping hopefully a safe distance away from him on the mattress. But her plans for a quiet and intimacy-free night were thoroughly destroyed and ruined when he suggested they should "do the newlywed thing", meaning sex.

She knew she couldn't get out of it without Tom noticing something was wrong with her, so she was forced to go along with it.

It was clear to her what Tom wanted when he took his shirt off, and as they kissed and he touched her, it felt wrong. Wrong on all levels, and her mind couldn't help straying. She didn't know this man, he was not her husband, not the man she married.

_Lies_. It was all a bunch of lies.

_Manipulation._ He manipulated her into falling in love with him, this idea of him that never truly existed in the first place.

She couldn't get in the mood, something Tom evidently had no trouble in doing. How could he possibly live with himself for doing this to her?

She forced herself to continue along anyway in responding to his kisses, but she wasn't truly there, with him, in the moment. She couldn't take anymore of it when he was on top of her, peering down into her eyes. She felt used. A plaything. A puppet. There was not anything remotely arousing about feeling that way with him. Her mind drifted way off when Tom reached over and pulled open the drawer near their bed, looking for a condom. She thought maybe if she closed her eyes, it would have helped and made her feel better about having sex with him. She was wrong. Instead, Red's face flashed in her mind, and along with it, she heard Red's voice inside her head, his words like a taunt...

_"The answers are there, you just need to be willing to dig hard enough to delve them out."_

_"So to answer your question, no, we definitely didn't have sex last night. Making love, however, well...that's another story..."_

_"The reason I haven't given you any answers, Lizzie, is because you are asking all the wrong questions... "_

She couldn't do this. She just couldn't.

When the springs on the mattress gave out a squeak and she felt Tom lean over her, she made an involuntary noise. When she reopened her eyes and looked up at Tom's face, she could tell he was bewildered and confused. She hadn't turned down sex with him before, so she supposed he could notice the dramatic change in her. "I... I think I'm getting a headache or something," she lied feebly, the first excuse that came to her head. "Maybe we shouldn't do this tonight, babe? I'm so sorry."

She could tell Tom was disappointed, but he played the role of supportive and forgiving husband well, telling her that's fine and that she should have just told him she was not feeling well in the first place. After that, fortunately for her, everything stopped and Tom fell asleep soon after, half his body resting against her and an arm slung around her as he snored. _If only sleeping were that easy for her to do... _She felt exhausted and wanted sleep so badly, yet her mind wouldn't switch off. It refused to.

How had her life gotten this way?

She went back to blaming Reddington, because he was so easy to blame. And yes, that was partially true. If it hadn't been for him surrendering to the FBI, making her life change and cause her to question everything in regards to Tom and the type of man she had married, everything would have been perfectly fine. She would have been happy, if ignorant. Her and Tom could have carried on the way they always had been; Living this comfortable and almost-dream life. They would have adopted a child together, been happy doting parents, and life would have been wonderful.

This was Red's fault, the way she was being right now.

Then again, she would have liked to know. Ignorance and denial isn't always the best approach.

Blaming him and resenting him for screwing up her happy home life was a little selfish. Ungrateful. If it weren't for him, she wouldn't have known anything. It was better to know the truth about just who was sleeping next to her in bed, than not knowing at all. Red had certainly made her advance in her career and presented her an amazing opportunity to show people how much she was worth. No one dared to call her 'Sir' or a hard-nosed bitch anymore, and her colleagues had started to take her seriously as a FBI Agent.

She was certain her adoptive father Sam would have been proud of her.

She had been nothing but mean to Red from the very beginning, and she realized that then, as she lay with the side of her cheek against her spongy pillow and Tom's arm around her, his bare chest against her back, huddled close in the bed sheets. She had taken Reddington and his help for granted, with no expression of deep gratitude in return. Red never exactly made it clear on her that he expected anything from her in return. Pushing him away was easier than having to acknowledge that he was on her side and that he cared about her, in some unknown and mysterious way she wasn't completely sure the depths of.

Annoying as he was, she did appreciate everything he had done, both for her and the Bureau. He was an asset, a valuable one.

Her mind went back to their conversation earlier in the day in the elevator, before they had parted ways. She definitely hadn't exactly shown him any kindness then. He had asked her out to dinner and, thinking back to it, she had acted childish and incredibly rude towards him. In her defense, it was hard not to show any hostility when she was angry the way she was, over the cannabis brownies and Red's deliberate evasiveness over what else had happened between them the previous night before.

Sighing heavily through her nostrils, she rolled carefully on her back, effectively moving Tom's arm off her. She held herself still, going so far as to even hold her breath in, when Tom stirred and moved the other way, facing the other direction. When the sounds of his snores began again, she released the breath she was holding in. Surely this wasn't healthy for a marriage, to be feeling this way about your significant other. It couldn't be healthy to feel like reaching behind you, grabbing the pillow you were laying on in your hands, and snuffing out your husband until he was dead, either. It terrified her, how quickly she had become this person; One that had sudden brutal urges to do terrible things. But that was how she was now. Again, she gave Red credit for that.

She stared up at the ceiling in the dark room, catching herself wondering what Reddington was up to at that very moment in time. Was he awake like her or was he, too, dead to the world and fast asleep, like her deceitful husband was next to her? She turned her head and peered over at the illuminated red numbers on the alarm clock near her side of the bed.

It was already one in the morning. Sleep didn't seem as if it was going to come to her tonight, not with her head racing the way it was.

Deciding she couldn't take sitting around any longer, she sat up and carefully extricated herself out of the sheets. She grabbed her flannel, blue-and-green nightgown from where it was hanging on the rack behind the closed-door in their bedroom, and slipped it on, covering herself up modestly. Tom was still dead to the world and making little grunting noises in his sleep when she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, and she snuck downstairs, turning the kitchen light on as she went.

Hudson, alerted to her presence, stood from his doggy bed and scampered over to her, his tail wagging in excitement. She knelt against the linoleum in the kitchen and scratched him behind his ears with her fingernails fondly, realizing she loved Hudson more than she loved Tom. She prefered Hudson over Tom's company right now. _What kind of wife did that make her?_

She wouldn't have minded calling Red and speaking to him. For some reason, hearing his voice in the late hours of the night was extremely appealing on her. She stood and grabbed her phone, flipping it open and going through her contacts. _Should she call him, right now, in the middle of the night? _Or maybe that wouldn't have been the best idea.

Instead, she went through the images on her phone, the ones she had taken with her camera, dating probably two years back; Pictures of her and Tom in happier times when she was utterly clueless, hugging and smiling for the camera, one big happy lie. She kept scrolling through the images, feeling nothing but emptiness. And then she saw the most recent ones that had been taken. A picture of Hudson while he was sleeping on the sofa. A picture of Tom washing him in the bathtub. A picture of Liz herself clad only in her matching black lingerie, posing somewhat seductively at the camera with Reddington's fedora on her head.

_Wait. What?_

Front teeth clamping down on her bottom lip, she studied the shot more carefully, her eyes bugging out in shock.

The date said the picture had only just been taken last night. Her head swarmed with even more questions. _Who had taken it, though? Whose hand was the one holding her phone? Dembe or... Red?_ _Was this before or after their game of strip poker? What on earth had she been thinking? _Bunching her left hand into a fist, she pressed her knuckles against her lips as she swiped her thumb over the screen to go to the next image. There was another shot of her, but wearing Red's glasses as well this time.

When was this nightmare and all the surprises that came along with it going to end? Seriously!

The images of herself set her off in a completely different way. She got to her feet, tightened her nightgown more securely over her body, and stepped over Hudson towards the front door. She had her mind made up. _Screw giving him a phone call,_ she thought, slipping her boots on. She was going to go straight to his hotel room, and she was going to confront him, right this instance. It didn't matter that she was only dressed in her nightgown and just her underwear and bra underneath it, or that Red might have even considered it rude, her showing up at one in the morning unannounced. She was beyond caring about how she would look, showing up on his hotel room doorstep. He had seen her in her bra and panties already anyway- obviously.

All she cared about was getting her answers. And get them, she will, goddamn it all, whether she had to be physically rough with Red or not.

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**I was very anxious about this one. I do hope it isn't a disappointment.  
**

** I do also hope grammar is okay, I hope it isn't a complete mess of words! Sorry, to the guest writer that said about it being endless and redundant. I know I am not very good at this, it's a challenge getting it right, especially phrases with English not being my first language. I'm very sorry, thank you for letting me know to be aware though!  
**

**My biggest thank you to you all for being so kind with the alerts and comments made to this! It means the world!  
**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Thank you guys so much for your lovely reviews. I was feeling a bit afraid to keep updating, but I seem to have found my courage back. I do hope you come to enjoy this one. Thank you for such lovely encouragement!**_

_**Again, I'm sorry for any mistakes or grammar.**_

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_**Chapter Nine**_

Liz bustled through the door straight into Reddington's hotel room, a whirlwind in female form. She felt edgy and ready for murder- the worst possible case scenario.

Sweat was clinging to her brows from having ran from her house all the way to the hotel he was staying at. Seeing a woman at a ridiculous hour of the night running in just her nightgown attracted a lot of attention from cars and people still out and about in the streets, and she couldn't even count on two hands the amount of times people had turned and given her a funny look, no less the number of times a car horn would honk at her as she had passed them.

Some part of her had expected to find Reddington asleep. Some part of her hoped he was, so that she could rudely wake him and piss him off. Only he wasn't. She searched around the room and found him standing by the window, peering out into the street, his back facing her, still dressed in the dressy white shirt, vest, and navy blue trousers he wore earlier during the day.

For a second it threw her off, and she couldn't remember why she had come in the first place. But then he spoke, without even so much as turning from the window to face her. Maybe the heavy breathing noises she was making had announced her, or maybe he had eyes in the back of his head. She wasn't sure which.

He said, in a knowing low tone of voice, "You've discovered something curious on your phone, haven't you, Lizzie?"

She felt her breath hitch in her throat at his comment; Red never failed to unnerve her. It was as if he could read her mind sometimes, and his comment left her with nowhere to go conversationally for a few minutes as she tried to calm her breathing down. Her chest was rising and falling from the exertion of running to his hotel room. Once it calmed down a decent bit, she slipped a hand in her pocket, pulling out her cell phone. So he did know about the pictures. He was probably the one responsible of taking them.

"Were you the one that took them?" she asked, her voice high. "Was it you? Were you the one that took the pictures?"

"Why does it even matter who took them, Lizzie?"

"Because I have a right to know! It's my body, for Christ sake!" She was starting to shout now but it was having no power or effect on him. He didn't bother turning around to face her, and that was irritating most of all. She was screaming at his back. "Tell me, you were there! You remember everything that happened, so tell me right now!"

"The truth is... who was responsible for taking the pictures doesn't even matter, Lizzie. What matters is-"

"I don't care! It matters to me!" She cut him off loudly.

Annoyed enough by him not facing her direction, she stormed over towards where he was standing, grabbed him by the forearm, and spun him around roughly, pushing him lightly so his back and shoulders were pressed up against the glass of the window. She searched his face angrily with her eyes, yet he was giving nothing away. He looked calm as a summer's breeze-less day, and as if it was next to nothing for her to be yelling at him. The only thing he did look was tired, which was understandable given how late in the night it was. But she could see nothing there in his expression that told her what he was feeling about all of this, about her coming to his room screaming at him like this.

"L_ook at me_ when I'm talking to you! I'm tired of this, _all of it_! I want answers and I want them now, goddamn it! _Give them_ to me!"

She oddly enough felt like a child demanding her favorite toy back from an adult. She knew yelling was not going to help the situation, especially not when it came to Reddington, but it was how she naturally responded when angered.

Catching her off-guard, he took a step forward closer towards her and her right hand curled up into a fist automatically. She both sensed and feared that he was about to do something to her. She was two inches taller than him, and yet, knowing Red, she knew what he was capable of when he was being pushed hard enough or when he was feeling threatened. He made it clear what he was doing when he moved further and further away from her towards the mini bar, deliberately not showing his back to her, keeping his eyes on hers.

She knew he was doing that so he could watch her at all times. She was not above and beyond attacking him when his back was to her and catching him unprepared, so obviously he was not taking any risks tonight.

"Drink, Lizzie?" He rummaged around, setting two glass tumblers on the counter. "I'm having one."

When she didn't bother answering, he pulled open a bottle of scotch and poured her a glass anyway. The simple action made Liz's pulse throb. Was he that blind? Was he deaf, even? She didn't come to his hotel room for a nightcap. She went there for answers to her questions; Answers she has wanted all day ever since last night happened.

"You know I didn't come all the way here for a nightcap," she retorted bitterly. "I came here for answers. I'm not leaving until I get them."

"Then you'll be staying the full night, I take it," Red replied carelessly, taking a sip of his drink. "Excellent. You can take the bed, and if it makes you feel more comfortable, I'll take the couch." He made a deep noise at the base of his throat, as if he just only recalled something. "Of course, it's a bit silly if we don't sleep in the same bed together, wouldn't you think? Certainly after last night. I believe it's no secret just how much the pair of us equally enjoyed that, Lizzie." He went to take another sip of his drink, stopped just when the rim of the glass was near his lips, then he added offhandedly, "I vaguely remember your fingernails scraping down my back when we woke. That was fun."

He appeared as if he was trying his hardest not to smile after the comment so she knew he was doing it on purpose. When he made comments like this, cryptic and teasing ones, it tended to piss her off even more. And if that was his goal, he had succeeded with the attempt.

_Son of a bitch!_

"I think this has all gone on long enough." She wanted to find something to hurl at him, but instead, she reached over and grabbed the glass of scotch he had poured for her. The need for a hard, strong drink got the better of her. After what happened last night, what with the cannabis in the brownies, she couldn't help inspecting the contents in the glass suspiciously. "I hope there isn't anything illegal in here?"

"There isn't, I assure you. There's no substances smuggled in there. It's just a lovely blend of scotch."

"Well, I hope so." She took a cautious sip and, as far as she could tell, it was nothing but alcohol. Potent with a horrible aftertaste. "Out of all of this, I've learned never to eat or drink anything in your hotel room without asking first."

"Well, yes. That is certainly a wise way to go about it."

Unsure of what else to say, she moved over towards the couch and sat on the edge while taking another sip of the scotch. She kept Red constantly in her sights as he moved towards the space beside her. He untucked the tail of his shirt out from his trousers before sitting with a heavy sigh, stretching out his legs in front of him. A strange silence fell over the pair of them while they each sipped at their drinks. When Liz sat back against the sofa, she turned and discovered that Red was watching her, almost contemplatively.

"What?" she asked, self-conscious. "Why're you looking at me that way?"

A silent laugh shook him as his lips curled. "I'm merely trying to store this moment mentally for safekeeping."

"Store this moment? Why the hell for?"

"You," he explained, without hesitation, his eyes boring into hers. "It's certainly not every day that a furious woman barges into my hotel room dressed in barely any articles of clothing but her night gown. Elizabeth Keen; She'll huff, and she'll puff, and she most certainly will succeed in blowing your house down."

Liz digested his words down for a moment. "Yeah, well, I have to say this is a novelty for me, too," she admitted reluctantly, with a shrug. "Coming here, dressed like this. But something tells me that this was exactly what you wanted from me in the first place, wasn't it? You intentionally were trying to drive me crazy by not being straight-forward in answering me about what happened when I stayed with you last night. Well, here I am. I'm here for answers, and I'm not gonna go anywhere until you give me them."

"And what was the question again?"

"What happened between us last night? Tell me for real, this time."

Red stood up with a heavy sigh, turning his back on her again while he strode leisurely towards the window again.

"I suppose, you can take consolation in knowing that, no, nothing truly happened, Lizzie. I certainly wouldn't ever dream of taking advantage, and I don't step in where I know I am unwanted." Reaching the window, he shifted slightly while resting a shoulder against the glass to meet her gaze steadily. He sounded nothing but both earnest and sincere, relieving her. "Well, aside from the naughty game of strip poker and the cannabis brownies, of course. And the pictures of you parading around in your bra and panties while wearing my hat and glasses which, yes, were taken by Dembe with the camera on your mobile cellular device." He said the words without preamble whatsoever, leaving her unprepared, but at least he was at last revealing everything to her.

"So we never did end up doing anything at all last night?" She asked slowly, just to be sure. "That's what you're saying?"

"Exactly, yes." Tearing his eyes away from hers to peer outside the window into the pitch black darkness outside, Liz watched Red as he lifted his glass and drained the very last contents of the scotch down completely. His back facing her, he moved to place his empty glass on the mantelpiece of the unlit fireplace. "So congratulations, Lizzie. Beauty never slept with the beast last night." She couldn't see his face, because he was glancing outside the window again, but Liz thought she detected a bitter, tart edge there in his tone.

She expected to feel relieved and weightless at his confession; His reassurance that they hadn't done anything too bad last night. Yet, she hardly felt relieved at all. Especially after talking the possibilities of sleeping with Reddington over with Ressler, she had actually found herself warming up to the idea, ironically enough. It wasn't a disturbing or disgusting notion on her anymore. Her heart swelled with an emotion she couldn't quite identify. After a second, it occurred to her that she was actually feeling disappointment. She was feeling disappointed.

"The beast?" She repeated, baffled. "Are you really referring to yourself as the beast in this situation?"

She heard the dry chuckle he gave out. "Well, that's what I am to you, aren't I? The hideous beast? The monster? Well, I'm very glad to put you at ease."

Liz lifted her glass and gulped in the rest of her scotch, cringing as it burned in her throat on the way down. "At first, I saw you that way. A monster," she admitted. "Then I realized you were only doing what you had to do, in saving my life. But honestly, I don't feel that way anymore, Red. I mightn't show it, but I am thankful for everything that you've done. I do appreciate it, despite... not showing it most of the time."

"There's also something else." His next words were deeper, filled with hesitation.

"What else? What else did we do?"

Red was silent for an unnervingly long moment. Just when Liz was getting ready to open her mouth, to pressure him into coming out with it, he said, "We kissed." A numb shock rippled through her at that. "Well, you kissed me. I gladly returned it." He gave out a shuddering intake of breath. "Good Lord, Lizzie. I haven't been kissed like that by a woman in years..."

Oh. She drew in a breath, then tried not to show any reaction when he turned on his side from the window to peer at her. For some reason, Liz felt afraid to meet his eyes, so she kept her eyes cast downward to the empty glass in her hands instead. "Must have been the brownies, that's all. The... the cannabis in Dembe's brownies."

It was the only logical explanation she could come up with; Well, the only explanation she wanted to let herself believe. It was a half-assed excuse, though. She knew the true reason why it had probably happened, in her instigating a kiss last night. It was just, apparently, with the cannabis from the brownies being in her system, it had lowered her inhibitions and made her a lot braver than she usually was when it came to acknowledging her feelings.

"Oh, hardly. I hardly think the meager amount of cannabis in Dembe's brownies had any influence on what happened either way. I think you know that too, don't you, Lizzie?" Red's voice had taken on a strange timbre. As if it was laced with things left unspoken, hidden meanings.

Still trying not to show any outwards emotion in response, Liz bent down to place her empty glass on the carpet near her boots. She couldn't help that telling sign of her heart speeding up, however. "I... I think its probably best that I go. Tom will probably be worried that I-"

"-Tom doesn't know that you are here, does he, Lizzie? Tom's still asleep, unaware that you have even left the house to come here."

God, she hated him. Hated him for doing this, for being able to read her mind so clearly. Yet it thrilled her on some deep, dark, and pervasive level. He could get her so irritated sometimes, yet it was never all the more arousing, the fact that he could.

"That's not true," she protested, forcing herself to stand. "I don't know what the hell it is that you're trying to imply of me, but you're wrong. I'm leaving." She got halfway towards the door before she felt a sudden nagging urge to shove Red up against the window again. Shove him and kiss him, not particularly in that order.

She felt such a conflicting range of emotions smack her brutally; On one hand, she was pissed off at him for having kept her guessing for a whole full day into what had happened last night. He had gotten her worked up with different scenarios, to the point where she was stressing with whether or not they had actually done the deed together; As it turned out, they hadn't. They had simply kissed, though that was a big moment within itself. He had been driving her crazy all day, with both his evasiveness and all of his cryptic comments. Shoving him against the window would have been very satisfying, as a way of retaliation, for that reason alone.

So that was exactly what she did.

Thinking to hell with it all, she whirled back around to face him, slipped in close enough to grab him by the collar of his shirt, and with a strength that she never realized was within her, she shoved him back up against the window again. She heard the back of his skull knock against it, which caused Red to close his eyes tightly in pain, before he opened them to meet hers again. Liz's chest was heaving and she could feel herself shuddering violently.

Red did nothing in response but simply stare at her, breathing heavily himself, his arms loose at his sides.

In that moment, Liz recognized the full-blown love/hate relationship she had with him. She hated him yet, at the same time, she both needed and cared for him deeply. Both sides were difficult within her to reconcile.

Her eyes kept alternating, from his eyes, to his puckered lips. She had no idea where to look right now. "So that's simply it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level. She wasn't quite sure she believed him. "We kissed, and that's it? You were making a bigger deal out of it than necessary, just with the sole intention of driving me insane with wondering?"

He nodded slightly, his eyes peering deeply into hers. "In a nutshell, yes, that is exactly what I did. But in my defense, it was a very big deal to me. The... the kissing."

Just for the sake of it and to make herself feel better, Liz slipped her fingers under the collar of his shirt to get better hold before pulling him towards her only to shove him back into the glass again. He took in a deep unsteady breath at that, his eyes closing briefly before opening again. What she saw come over his expression startled her. Amusement glistening his eyes, the corners of his lips turned upwards. He was enjoying this- the fact that she had him literally squished up against the window. It was the most aggravating in the world.

"What?" she hissed in irritation. "What on earth could be so funny to you about any of this?"

Red chewed on the inside of his cheek as he glanced away from her for a moment, being deliberately thoughtful, it seemed. "It's funny how all you simply have to do is look at someone to know. With certain people, you can just tell. It reeks out of every inch of their pores."

"Know what, Red? What are you talking about?"

"This is your brand of foreplay, isn't it, Lizzie?" That irritatingly smug smile was on his face. "Well, fortunately for you, I happen to also be infected with quite the same thing."

_Her brand of foreplay? The man was seriously losing his mind._

"You're sick," she muttered, trying to sound more affronted than she truly felt. It was disturbing, how close he was to the point. There was something about this that she found strangely exciting and thrilling, having him confined to the glass. She didn't realize she was being so obvious about it.

"Hmm, perhaps." He smacked his lips together, his eyes sliding down her body. "But the signs are certainly all there."

"Signs? What signs? What the hell are you-" Instantly, Liz came to regret bothering to ask that.

Red was stronger than her physically, no doubt about it. Before she could even process what was happening, he used all of his weight to push her off-guard. Next thing she became aware of, was that their situation had been reversed; Her back slammed up against the window and she stiffened as Red had somehow managed to wrench both her arms up above her head. He held them in place with an arm pinning them and no matter how hard she tried to wiggle, it was pointless. She was trapped.

Her frantic movements to get free only served to excite him. He laughed; a somehow seductive, deep and breathless chuckle. Their faces were barely inches close, all of his body weight leaning against hers. She felt one of his legs move to slide in between hers, the fabric of his trousers brushing against the skin on part of her upper thighs. Somehow, along with it all, her flannel night gown had come loose, the sash that held it all together strewn apart. A lot of skin was probably being exposed to him, embarrassingly enough.

She became horribly aware of her bodies reaction to it then; The heavy, laborious breathing. While she knew she was most definitely not in any type of serious danger when it came to Reddington, she still felt a frightening thrill ripple through her.

"Still think I'm the sick one now, Lizzie?" Red's voice had taken on a strange edge; Deeper, hoarse. Breathless. "Increased breathing rate. Dilation of the pupils. Hmm, those seem the signs of an aroused woman to me, wouldn't you think?"

"No. What I truly think is that you talk too much, Reddington. You love the sound of your own voice too much." Denial seemed the best way to approach. There would be no way in hell that she would ever willingly admit just how much so Red was effecting her right now.

Damn it, though. He was right. She _was_ enjoying this, especially because it was him that it was happening with. Maybe this was exactly her brand of foreplay, after all. And while nothing severe may have happened last night, there was a possibility it was going to happen tonight.

**a/n: Sorry if this bad writing. Or a disappointment. :) Thank you for reading, its always appreciated.**


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